UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT   LOS  ANGELES 


IS*' 


The  Library  of  French  Fiction 


EDITED  BY 

BARNET  J.  BEYER 


[CHAMPAGNE 


^££J 

\BRITTANY 


NONO 

Love  and  the  Soil 

(NONO) 


BY 


GASTON   ROUPNEL 

Translated  by 
BARNET  J.  BEYER 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


Copyright  1919 
By  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Printei'in  the' Unhid  'sttttes  of'AntiricA 


pa 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

M.  ROUPNEL  aroused  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  the 
literary  world  of  France  in  1910,  when  Nono,  his  first 
novel,  was  published.  Although  there  is  something 
of  the  manner  of  Jules  Renard  in  Nono,  it  is,  never- 
theless, one  of  the  few  contributions  to  contemporary 
French  fiction  of  marked  originality.  The  characters 
are  vividly  drawn,  and  they  linger  in  the  memory  of 
the  reader.  Nono,  a  simple  winegrower,  the  hero  of 
this  book,  is  instinct  with  vitality,  and  will  remain  a 
humble  companion  of  the  great  characters  of  modern 
literature.  He  is  so  rich  in  pregnant  expressions  of 
rustic  wisdom  that  he  often  suggests  Gargantua;  but 
he  is  more  tender,  more  moved  by  human  sorrow,  and 
re  sensitive  to  the  beauty  of  nature  than  Rabelais' 
hero.  In  Nono  we  find  the  elements  of  poetic  gran- 
deur  combined  with  the  most  sincere  naivete.  He  is 
a  man  of  a  single  love  attachment,  and  his  whole  life 

j£  is  moulded  and  frustrated  by  it.  His  moods,  whether 
dominated  by  sorrow  or  joy,  always  compel  our 

?    interest. 

2        The  author  of  Nono  was  born  23  September  1871 

<|  in  Franche-Comte  and  has  spent  much  of  his  life  at 
Gevrey-Chambertin,  near  Dijon,  the  district  which  he 
uses  as  a  setting  for  his  novel.  M.  Roupnel  has  de- 

i 

I  458417 


vi  PREFATORY  NOTE 

voted  his  life  to  teaching  and  writing,  and  at  present 
he  is  a  lecturer  at  the  University  of  Dijon  and  writes 
articles  and  stories  for  the  leading  newspapers  and 
periodicals  of  France.  Another  novel  written  by  M. 
Roupnel,  Le  Vieux  Garain,  appeared  in  1913. 

M.  Roupnel  has  drunk  deep  of  the  springs  of  Bur- 
gundy. He  seems  to  have  imbibed  the  very  spirit  of 
that  beautiful  region  of  France;  and  he  gives  us  in 
Nona,  in  direct  and  pungent  language,  not  only  richly 
colored  descriptions  of  the  country,  but  also  realistic 
presentations  of  its  vivacious  people.  In  his  descrip- 
tions of  nature  there  is  a  certain  mystic  sentiment, 
which  Burgundy,  a  hilly  country,  full  of  sunshine  and 
good  cheer,  hardly  suggests.  This,  M.  Roupnel  ex- 
plains in  a  letter  that  he  was  kind  enough  to  write  me. 
He  says :  "I  have  inherited  from  my  Norman  ancestors 
(English  perhaps)  the  soul  of  a  mystic  which 
strangely  is  little  in  harmony  with  the  sunny  vines  of 
the  hills  of  Burgundy  and  the  hearty  laughter  of  that 
jovial  country.  All  I  can  say  is  that  nature  seems  to 
have  constituted  my  temperament  of  these  two  dis- 
tinctly different  elements  ..."  These  two  qualities 
pervade  M.  Roupnel's  absorbing  story,  Nono. 

I  wish  to  express  my  sincere  thanks  to  my  friends 
Professor  F.  W.  Chandler  and  Mr.  A.  Miller  for 
having  read  the  manuscript  and  for  valuable  sug- 
gestions. 

BARNET  J.  BEYER. 

NEW  YORK, 
20  November  1918. 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAPTER       I i 

CHAPTER      II. 9 

CHAPTER     III 16 

CHAPTER     IV 28 

CHAPTER       V 35 

CHAPTER     VI 42 

CHAPTER    VII 48 

CHAPTER  VIII 57 

CHAPTER     IX. 71 

CHAPTER      X 80 

PART  II 

CHAPTER       1 97 

CHAPTER      II 106 

CHAPTER     III 116 

CHAPTER     IV 126 

CHAPTER       V 135 

CHAPTER     VI 143 

CHAPTER    VII 153 

CHAPTER  VTII 161 

CHAPTER     IX 169 

CHAPTER      X 179 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PART  III 


CHAPTER 

I. 

185 

CHAPTER 

n. 

I9>5 

CHAPTER 

in. 

.?••    ..'    •      •      •    ,  *      •      •      i97 

CHAPTER 

IV. 

204 

CHAPTER 

V. 

216 

CHAPTER 

VI. 

CHAPTER 

VII. 

...      .      ...      .      233 

CHAPTER 

VIII. 

246 

CHAPTER 

rx. 

*     259 

CHAPTER 

X. 

«      i      r  '    ;            ^ 

NONO:  Love  and  the  Soil 


NONO 

LOVE  AND   THE  SOIL 


PART  I 
CHAPTER  I 

WHEN  one  has  the  reputation  of  being  "an  uncouth 
and  foolish  Jacques"  .  .  .  there  is  really  very  little 
to  be  done!  "Let  the  tongues  wag!  .  .  .  Moreover, 
the  world  is  large!  .  .  .  There  are  other  places  be- 
sides the  plain  of  Rouvres!  .  .  .  There  is  many  a 
Jacques  here  below!  .  .  .  And  they  are  necessary! 
...  A  half  decent  world  must  have  a  little  of  every- 
thing: it  must  have  the  good  and  also  the  wicked!  .  .  . 
Thus  it  is  with  a  good  vintage:  there  must  be  ripe 
and  unripe  grapes!  .  .  .  foul  and  sound!  .  .  .  And 
our  forefathers  didn't  hesitate  even  to  mix  some  white 
grapes  with  the  red!  .  .  .  ' 

In  this  way  poor  Jacquelinet,  nicknamed  "Nono," 
consoled  himself.  As  he  spoke  he  craned  his  long 
neck  towards  his  listeners,  and  thrust  forth  a  long  face, 
foolishly  good-natured  and  cadaverous.  Above  his 
thin  eyebrows  rose  the  wrinkled  forehead  of  a  be- 
wildered, simple  fellow.  His  small,  soft,  and  shriveled 


2  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

eyes  had  the  enraptured  gaze  of  innocence.  Deep 
wrinkles  fretted  his  entire  face,  mercilessly  furrowing 
his  hollow  cheeks.  Their  sorrowful  lines  revealed  the 
toil  of  the  winegrowers,  and  told  of  the  misery  of 
tilling  the  soil.  However,  his  turned  up,  flabby  nose 
was  a  sign-post  showing  that  the  wine-shop  was  owned 
by  a  naive,  uncouth  Jacques.  But  what  a  sweet  smile 
on  those  lips  parched  by  the  sun!  And  Nono  would 
raise  his  head  and  gayly  jog  it  as  if  to  breathe  in 
the  spice  and  good  humor  of  the  Burgundy  air. 

Nono's  great  pleasure  was  gossiping.  During  the 
day,  alone  in  the  fields  or  in  the  vineyard,  Nono  would 
confide  in  his  little  donkey.  And  the  puny,  pensive 
beast  listened,  drooping  its  dusty  head  towards  the 
ground:  "Fine  weather,  my  chum!  but  the  wind  has 
changed  its  course,  for  the  trains  can  be  heard."  Or 
else:  "The  oriole  is  singing,  old  pal!  ...  that  means 
rain."  Nono  would  also,  at  times,  venture  to  predict 
about  the  wine  and  the  corn:  "The  soil  is  very  rich 
.  .  .  It's  a  sign  of  a  year  for  wine."  The  donkey 
did  not  say  no;  and  Nono,  content  to  be  understood, 
sharply  closed  his  pocket-knife:  "It's  already  past  four 
o'clock,  my  chum!  .  .  .  We're  going  to  fill  up." 

In  the  evening,  surrounded  by  loitering  and  churlish 
neighbors,  standing  at  the  door  of  his  wretched  stable 
with  the  donkey's  harness  over  his  shoulder  and  in 
his  arms,  Nono  would  begin  his  interminable  babbling, 
while  the  mule  rolled  on  the  hard  ground  and  rubbed 
its  back  against  the  stones. 

With  a  cheerful  artlessness,  he  would  reassure  his 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  3 

anxious  friends,  or  calm  those  that  were  fretful: 
"You're  wrong  in  complaining  of  your  occupation. 
'Tis  the  sun  that  ripens  for  us  our  grapes.  It  does 
three-quarters  of  the  work;  and  the  generous  rain 
does  the  greater  part  of  the  rest.  Besides,  the  wine 
is  sown  and  the  soil  is  full  of  promise.  Nonsense, 
the  bulk  of  the  work  is  done.  And  then,  if  the  wine 
is  bad,  instead  of  selling  it,  we  drink  it.  But  there 
are  cranks  who  are  never  satisfied.  They're  full  of 
groans,  more  so  than  rickety  windmills." 

The  winegrower  is  particularly  fond  of  grumbling 
about  his  meager  fare:  "The  bourgeois  eats  what 
he  likes.  He  fills  up  on  fowl  and  chops,  and  stuffs 
himself  with  truffles,  but  if  we  want  to  have  a  taste 
of  meat,  we  must  kill  a  wretched  pig  which  only  yields 
some  bacon  and  no  roast  joints." 

To  such  complaints,  Nono  replied  mirthfully:  "Ah! 
my  friends!  .  .  .  There's  nothing  better  than  bacon 
and  vegetables.  We  children  of  the  soil,  we  ain't 
proud.  For  us  a  good  stew's  the  thing!  And  how 
varied  the  bacon  is!  ...  It's  pink,  white,  fat  and 
lean.  The  poor  pig  has  always  something  to  offer. 
It  gives  something  from  everyside:  the  back,  the  flank 
and  the  belly.  After  having  squealed  a  while,  it's 
put,  from  head  to  tail,  into  the  salting-tub,  and  here 
is  our  pittance  for  six  months  preserved  in  salt,  which 
owes  nothing  to  the  butcher,  a  vender  of  stale  delica- 
cies and  of  tough  meat!" 

Nono  then  concluded:  .  .  .  "That's  how  I  am! 
Not  too  ill-natured,  not  too  thievish,  rather  roguish, 


4  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

content  with  everything  and  especially  to  be  on  earth, 
happy  to  be  well-settled  in  my  little  nook,  and  to  work 
there  to  my  heart's  content,  happy  to  make  my  friends 
laugh  and  to  make  no  one  cry." 

And  thereupon  the  friends  would  walk  off  jeering: 
"Confounded  Jacques!"  Now  this  Nono  was  really 
a  good  fellow,  for  he  spent  a  good  third  of  his  year 
in  doing  favors.  He  would  cart  for  those  who  had 
to  fetch  casks  or  gather  in  some  sorry  harvest.  For 
such  trifles  it  would  not  be  befitting  to  disturb  a  big 
horse,  they  were  just  worthy  of  a  little  mule  and  of 
Nono. 

Those  who  wished  could  pay  him:  Nono  never 
asked  for  anything.  He  had  his  own  way  of  thinking: 
"We  must  needs  help  one  another,  for  we  live  together 
in  the  same  world.  Besides,  we  mustn't  always  work 
for  money,  but  also  at  times  for  the  sake  of  the 
spirit." 

Nono  had  his  slight  failing.  No  sooner  was  he 
tickled  by  a  light  touch  of  drunkenness  than  the  art- 
less fellow  would  make  queer  speeches  to  much- 
amused  crowds.  From  the  very  outset  he  would  in- 
sist upon  emphasizing  two  or  three  things:  "I'm  no 
impostor.  I'm  above  all  no  Prussian.  I'm  no  drunkard. 
I  drink  to  please  the  world,  but  I  can't  get  drunk. 
How  unfortunate  it  is !" 

Nono  then  spoke  freely  of  himself,  his  life  and  his 
origin:  "I'm  a  child  of  the  soil.  I've  lived  in  the 
Baraques  de  Gevrey  fifty-three  years;  but  I  was  born 
at  Villebichot,  down  yonder,  half  a  league  in  the  di- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  5 

rection  of  Citeaux;  but  I  don't  recall  those  days.  My 
old  man  used  to  talk  of  'em:  'My  Nono,'  said  he, 
'was  born  in  the  gamekeeper's  house.  He  was  a  tiny 
bit  of  sausage  shriveled  up  in  a  cradle.  To-day  he's 
a  stuffed  monster.' ' 

"But  that,"  added  Nono,  "was  the  way  the  old  man 
bragged.  What  would  you  have?  that  old  man  spoke 
what  he  thought !" 

When  in  another  vein,  Nono  delighted  in  singing 
the  praises  of  his  province:  "La  Montagne  is  worth- 
less ;  it's  a  barren  and  drab  country.  Le  Pays-Bas  is  a 
country  of  misers.  La  Cote !  .  .  .  Yes,  here's  one  for 
you — unspeakable!  And  then!  ...  To  the  right  of 
Gevrey  is  Mory:  a  habitat  of  wolyes.  To  the  left  is 
Brochon:  a  city  of  beasts. 

"Take  even  Gevrey!  .  .  .  The  town  ain't  every- 
where the  same.  ...  In  the  upper  part,  there's  the 
Rue  Haute,  yonder  behind  the  forest,  almost  beneath 
the  cliff:  wretched  little  hovels  not  rising  a  foot  above 
the  ground,  and  a  pack  of  bears  living  within,  as  in 
caverns. 

"In  the  center  is  the  market-town;  and  there  you 
find  only  humbugs,  shops  and  cafes:  a  heap  of  chop 
eaters  and  lemonade  drinkers.  And  all  those  pups  are 
proud  fellows  who  fear  the  ground  will  make  the 
peasant's  foot  too  yellow. 

"All  that  is  worthless  stuff.  But  there  are  Les  Ba- 
raques.  .  .  .  Quite  near  here,  much  below  La  Cote,  on 
the  real  highway,  are  our  homes.  I'm  a  child  of  Les 
Baraques,  and  that's  the  pride  of  my  life.  Les  Ba- 


6  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

raques  of  Gevrey-Chambertin !  .  .  .  Ah!  my  friends! 
One  of  the  biggest  highways  in  the  world  runs  through 
here  without  much  ado.  At  least  so  I've  heard.  And 
as  a  matter  of  fact  Paris  and  Marseilles  actually  border 
it  for  a  short  distance.  Some  say:  The  Baraques  is 
a  wretched-looking  place!'  But  every  person  who 
comes  along  the  highway  sees  well  enough  by  our  de- 
meanor that  we  ain't  shoemakers,  but  winegrowers — 
independent  winegrowers." 

When  Nono  got  tispsy  in  earnest  the  tone  of  his 
speech  changed,  and  he  grew  gloomy.  He  began  to 
lose  faith  in  himself  and  in  his  tilling  of  the  soil: 
"After  all  the  toiling  peasant  is  hardly  rich.  There's 
scarcely  more  than  one  way  for  him  to  become  so: 
that  is,  to  have  a  kind  aunt  and  to  be  her  real  heir. 
As  for  me,  however,  instead  of  an  aunt  I  only  had 
a  wife;  and  even  she  was  a  low  cunning  harlot.  And 
yet  she  was  a  dear  thing,  and  I'd  have  stuck  to  her. 
But  where  is  she  at  this  very  minute  ?  I  haven't  heard 
from  her  for  seventeen  long  years.  The  world's  large: 
she's  lost  somewhere;  and  you  can  be  sure  that  with 
my  vineyard  work  on  hand  I  hardly  have  the  time 
to  set  out  in  search  of  her.  And  yet,  I  repeat  it,  she 
was  a  very  dear  thing  when  you  knew  how  to  manage 
her.  But  .  .  .  the  rest  of  the  world  is  just  full  of  a 
gang  of  lewd  villains.  This  isn't  meant  for  you." 

And  Nono  would  then  sadly  allude  to  his  unfor- 
tunate experiences  as  a  husband:  "I  don't  see  what 
pleasure  one  can  have  in  living  with  a  wife  of  a  poor 
man?  Why  just  that  woman,  and  not  another?" 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  7 

At  other  times  melancholy  inspired  Nono  with  dis- 
mal ideas  which  condemned  life  entirely:  "Look  here ! 
...  If,  after  my  death,  the  Creator  talks  to  me  of 
beginning  life  over  again  here  below,  I  want  to  be 
a  boarder  of  a  rabbit-hutch,  that  is  an  animal,  not  a 
man;  I  want  to  have  four  paws  and  be  full  of  hair. 
As  such  I'll  be  less  plagued." 

But  at  times  Nono  got  even  more  violently  drunk. 
He  was  often  enough  on  Sunday  evenings  in  a  sad 
plight.  For  hours  he  would  lie  helpless  in  the  wheel- 
wright's yard,  yawning  and  staring  at  the  passers-by. 
Like  a  bruised  worm  he  would  feebly  wriggle  his 
lanky  carcass.  If  anyone  approached  him,  he  drearily 
raised  towards  the  onlooker  his  dry  and  emaciated 
face.  His  large  ears  limply  protruded  from  his  head; 
in  his  small  dull  eyes  there  was  hardly  more  than  the 
dim  glimmer  of  an  insect's  eyes.  He  would  swing 
his  crooked  finger  before  the  noses  of  the  people,  and 
with  a  tremulous  voice,  gradually  becoming  more 
vehement  and  fretful,  he  would  force  each  one  to  agree 
with  him:  "You  can't  be  saying  't  ain't  so;  for  only 
a  fool'd  deny  it." 

When  Nono  would  finally  get  home,  he  would  find 
a  sad  place  indeed,  which  was  cheered  only  by  the 
wildness  of  a  very  little  girl — his  grandchild.  On  see- 
ing her,  the  drunkard  would  suddenly  grow  tender: 
"My  little  one!  ...  A  terribly  long  time  ago,  indeed 
rrany  years  ago,  there  was  a  charming  little  woman 
who  resembled  you  very  much.  It  was  your  grand- 
mother. I  was  then  a  young  chap.  But  since  then, 


8  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

sorrow  and  death  come  together  and  laid  waste:  the 
one  cut  the  harvest  down,  and  the  other  trampled  it 
to  dust.  Oh,  the  devil!  And  now  we're  both  alone 
in  life,  you  a  mere  bud  and  I  laden  heavy  with  years. 
Ah!  We've  nothing  to  brag  about." 

Less  tender  at  other  times,  he  would  give  his  little 
girl  such  advice  as  he  deemed  necessary:  "See  that 
later  on  you  don't  also  become  a  strumpet!"  But  the 
child,  who  was  only  five  years  old,  understood  little 
of  this  highly  moral  counsel. 

Nono's  extreme  state  of  drunkenness  would  last 
only  one  night,  however.  The  following  morning  he 
would  become  once  more  the  simple  fellow,  every- 
body's boon  companion.  And  thus  he  jogged  along, 
dragging  his  listless  feet  made  heavy  by  his  boots, 
joked  with  incessantly,  and  ever  an  easy  dupe,  honest 
and  good-natured  to  the  core. 


CHAPTER  II 

AND  yet  this  dull  and  gloomy  life  had,  like  every 
other  one,  its  days  of  happiness  and  sunshine. 

About  thirty  years  ago,  when  Nono  was  still  a 
young  man,  someone  entered  his  life  to  offer  him  his 
share  of  love.  And  this  person — who  was  to  be  the 
joy  and  torment  of  his  existence — had  not  appeared 
unexpectedly,  and  had  not  treacherously  planned  her 
part  in  effecting  his  doom. 

When  Jeanne  Sirodot  was  still  but  a  little  girl, 
when  she  was  yet  Jeannou,  Jeanette,  Nenette,  a  baby 
in  short  .  .  .  "Well !  ...  we  were  already  playmates 
and  a  pair  of  friends  .  .  .  We  were  in  love !  .  .  .  ' 

"I  knew  her  when  she  was  hardly  taller  than  a  beet- 
root," Nono  continued,  "only,  do  you  know?  ...  all 
in  all  she  was  already  somewhat  of  a  bother  ...  a 
real  little  beastly  thing!  ...  I  was  nine  or  ten  years 
old;  and  I  used  to  take  care  of  her  when  her  mother 
went  to  the  wash-house  or  to  do  household  work. 
Well!  I  had  to  be  on  the  watch;  her  limbs  were  no 
bigger  than  the  paws  of  a  seven-pound  rabbit,  and  she 
toddled  along  quicker  than  a  little  beast!" 

Nono  had  to  be  in  the  right  humor  to  relate  this 
story.  But  Sunday  evening,  in  the  Caillot  Cafe,  after 
an  afternoon  spent  in  drinking,  heedless  Nono  babbled 

9 


10  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

willingly.  Then,  betrayed  by  drunkenness  and  en- 
couraged by  the  cruel  obsession  of  an  ever  living 
reminiscence,  Nono  threw  open  to  all,  without  shame 
and  without  rancor,  his  galled  and  battered  soul.  He 
raked  up  mercilessly  a  beloved  past.  He  laid  bare  a 
bygone  youth.  .  .  . 

"...  After  all  a  little  dear  one  is  charming !  That 
one  you  only  had  to  take  in  your  arms,  and  you  were 
happy  ...  I  must  admit  that  I  was  in  a  way  her 
nurse:  I  saw  to  it  that  she  blew  her  nose,  and  was 
clean  and  dry  .  .  .  Later  I'd  take  her  to  school  .  .  . 
Still  later,  she  in  turn  came  to  work  for  us.  In  ex- 
change for  some  vines  we  cultivated  for  her  mother, 
little  Nenette  did  our  household  drudgery.  For  my 
father  and  I  were  alone.  We  had  no  woman  at  home. 
My  old  man  wasn't  often  sober.  And  then  we  knew 
as  much  about  household  work  as  a  shoemaker  knows 
about  making  medals. 

"This  Nenette  was  our  joy,  our  support,  our  salva- 
tion. You  should've  seen  the  little  being  animate  the 
whole  house.  Ah !  she  was  clever  and  quick  at  house- 
hold toil!  The  cloth  here  and  the  broom  there,  and 
the  stone  floor  was  clean!  And  now  the  beds  were 
made!  I  tell  you  that  in  no  time  the  wretched  hole 
of  the  Jacquelinets  (father  and  son)  assumed  a 
princely  and  glorious  air.  And,  to  top  it  all,  the  clever 
and  lively  girl  would  smile  to  you,  give  you  a  sly  wink, 
thrust  her  skirt  up  and  run  off!  .  .  .  Quick-silver! 
A  flash!  No  time  to  see  a  thing!  .  .  .  No  trace  left! 
.  .  .  The  old  man  and  I  remained  alone,  staring  open- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  11 

mouthed    at    each    other  .  .  .  Well,    old   man!  .  .  . 
That's  alive,  eh?  ...  That's  youth  for  you!  .  .  . 

"The  old  man  smiled:  'I  knew  one  in  Le  Pays-Bas 
— a  very  old  bird  now — who  .  .  .  '  and  then  he  would 
tell  me  a  raw  story:  he  didn't  know  any  others. 

"But  that  Nenette  became  very  pretty,  and  I  wasn't 
on  my  guard !  .  .  .  And  yet  those  idle  tramps  blabbed 
enough  about  her: 

"She  has  fine  legs  and  an  aggressive  walk !  .  .  .  Her 
short  skirts  don't  conceal  that  it's  not  bean-poles  that 
hold  her  up. 

"On  hearing  them  so  often  blab  in  this  way,  I 
finally  saw  with  their  eyes  .  .  .  Oh!  ...  so  little 
and  so  young  a  girl,  impossible !  .  .  .  a  darting  round 
tuft!  .  .  .  And  you  would  have  munched  that  pretty, 
delicate  and  brown  face  with  as  much  pleasure  as  a 
sugar  almond!  .  .  .  The  young  lads  called  her  'the 
Kabyl,'  for  her  hair  was  curled  and  black,  and  every- 
one compared  her  to  a  wild  little  squirrel. 

"But  beneath  her  wild  hair  her  features  were  small 
and  cute  enough  to  make  you  cry  .  .  .  yet  fearless  and 
forward  .  .  .  full  of  fine  courage.  And  there  was 
something  funny  too:  the  tip  of  her  nose  was  pink 
like  that  of  a  rabbit's,  and  she  had  the  smile  of  an 
urchin!  .  .  . 

"But  has  anybody  here  known  her  in  her  young 
days?  .  .  .  Has  that  charming  face  ever  raised  to- 
wards you  its  brown  soft  eyes?  .  .  .  Haven't  they 
moved  you?  ...  No?  ...  Well  then!  the  very 


12  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Heaven  which  looks  upon  us  from  on  high  won't  move 
you!  .  .  . 

"For  me,  you  see,  her  soul  was  in  those  eyes  which 
aroused  my  love.  Therefore,  I  had  only  to  let  my 
heart  loose,  to  have  my  fill  of  love  and  suffering.  But, 
alas !  .  .  .  I  was  tormented  with  jealousy.  Too  many 
idle  beasts  prowled  about  and  beset  that  skirt!  .  .  . 
She  had  about  her  the  web  of  a  hornet's  nest.  I  wasn't 
the  most  fortunate  of  the  crowd,  for  I  was  neither 
the  youngest  nor  the  boldest.  Besides,  what  could  I 
do  with  that  Renardin  in  the  struggle,  who  was  hotter 
than  a  live  coal  .  .  .  Don't  forget:  he  was  watching 
the  little  darling  for  two  or  three  years!  .  .  .  Ah!  I 
suspected  it!  ...  Every  time  the  child  passed  by — 
the  big  fellow  was  at  his  door !  .  .  .  his  feet  tucked  in 
felt  slippers  ...  his  hands  in  his  pockets  ...  his 
bald-pate  uncovered — as  graceful  as  a  crag — his 
shoulders  cramped  in  as  far  as  his  waistcoat. 

"Who'd  've  said,  on  seeing  that  thickset  wretch, 
with  the  surly  mustache  of  a  beef-eater,  his  dark  com- 
plexion and  his  darting  eyes,  that  he  was  the  black- 
guard of  the  province !  .  .  .  Oh !  there  is  no  use  jeer- 
ing .  .  .  But  you,  Ganat!  .  .  .  and  you,  Lecuyer! 
.  .  .  and  then  you,  you  fat  one  there !  .  .  .  You  know 
it  as  well  as  me:  years  ago,  when  your  wives  would 
bring  you  some  little  vines — well,  they  didn't  get  the 
seeds  from  the  official  receiver!  .  .  .  You're  laughing 
the  wrong  way !  .  .  .  That's  true,  however !  .  .  . 

"But  if  that  blackguard  had  his  day  ...  I  can  as- 
sure you  I  had  mine  too !  .  .  .  That's  what  you  were 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  13 

driving  at  ...  eh?  ...  You  wanted  to  make  me 
speak  of  my  glorious  day?  .  .  .  Well,  you'll  see. 
There  was  no  harm  done  that  day.  We  had  a  little 
chaf — that's  all.  We  were  in  the  same  vine  row ;  and 
remember  it  was  a  row  almost  dead.  I  was  digging, 
and  she  had  come  to  sharpen  the  vine-props.  It  was 
rather  a  nasty,  dim  winter  day  with  just  a  phantom 
of  light.  .  .  .  And  the  pruning  ain't  worth  much, 
when  the  vine  ain't  well  propped  and  it's  shivering 
cold,  under  an  overcast  sky.  ...  A  sky  that's  as 
smoky  as  a  bakehouse.  .  .  .  How  can  you  be  gay, 
when  the  weather  reminds  you  of  a  funeral?  .  .  .  I'll 
be  frank  with  you:  when  everything's  so  out  of  joint, 
I  lose  my  good  humor  and  become  a  tough  fellow  to 
handle,  too.  .  .  Well,  we  were  both  having  a  little 
bite  in  this  row  about  four  o'clock.  .  .  .  She  was  nib- 
bling at  a  piece  of  bread  I  was  holding  in  mv  hand  .  .  . 
And  then  it  was  the  old  story  of  kissing  and  coddling. 
We  were  very  close  to  each  other  .  .  .  There  was 
some  power  gripping  us  relentlessly.  Without  pity  for 
me,  it  brought  our  faces  closer  and  closer  together  .  .  . 
It  made  our  eyes  sparkle  and  our  mouths  water  .  .  . 
My  friends!  .  .  .  hear  me!  ...  I  seized  her  in  my 
arms!  .  .  .  Oh!  she  was  almost  there  already;  I  only 
had  to  draw  her  closer  to  me  .  .  .  But  when  I  felt 
the  little  rogue!  .  .  .  when  I  felt  on  my  waistcoat 
her  heaving  bosom!  .  .  .  then  my  lips  fell  where  her 
own  were  .  .  .  And  do  you  know?  .  .  .  Well,  that 
day  I  also  did  my  duty  on  earth  .  .  .  Do  you  know 
what  I  did  ?  .  .  .  Well,  I  cried  like  a  child !  .  .  .  And 


14  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

I  said  to  her:  "Girlie,  you  mustn't  cry!  .  .  .  There 
ain't  a  dearer  thing  in  the  world  than  you  ...  As 
for  me,  when  I  earn  three  francs  fifty  for  my  day  and 
two  bottles  of  wine,  I'm  quite  happy.  Don't  share 
with  me,  therefore,  my  bondage!  And  then,  it's  late: 
let's  go  home  together. 

"A  short  time  elapsed,  and  her  mother  Clemence  fell 
ill;  and  one  fine  morning  the  miserable  doctor  raised 
his  fat  red  snout  and  slyly  remarked:  'Ah!  her  neck 
is  swelling!  .  .  .  Very  well!  Very  well!  I  thought 
so:  this  woman  has  a  cancer  in  her  stomach,  her  condi- 
tion is  very  serious.  In  fact,  nothing  can  be  done; 
pay  me  and  I  sha'n't  see  her  any  more/ 

"Well,  what  could  we  do?  .  .  .  One  night,  Nenette 
and  I  were  helping  the  old  woman  drink.  I  raised  her 
head  which  was  as  yellow  as  ginger  bread,  and  the 
little  one  held  the  cup  to  her  lips.  But  the  old  woman 
turned  her  head  away  and  said:  'Oh!  I'm  going  to 
die  .  .  .  Something's  pounding  me  inside!  .  .  .  I'm 
going  to  die!  .  .  .  ' 

"  'Oh !  mother  Clemence !  .  .  .  *  said  I,  'perhaps  not 
yet!  ... 

"  'Yes/  she  answered,  'I  feel  it ;  I'm  going  to  die 
.  .  .  Ah!  It's  about  that  little  one  that  I'm  worried! 
.  .  .  I'm  a  very  poor  Christian  indeed  to  have  brought 
that  good  child  into  the  world!  ...  Ah!  Jacques! 
.  .  .  Ah !  my  boy !  .  .  .  don't  forsake  her !  .  .  .  Love 
her!. 

"  'Mother  Clemence/  I  answered,  'if  only  that  is . 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  15 

worrying  you,  you  can  rest  assured:  I  sha'n't  be  her 
enemy !' 

"  'My  boy !  .  .  .  My  poor  boy !  .  .  .  '  said  she, 
turning  her  head  in  every  direction  on  the  wretched 
pillow.  'My  boy !  .  .  .  Help  her  along !  .  .  .  ' 

"  'Mother  Clemence !  as  long  as  I'll  have  my  arms, 
and  they'll  not  be  worn  out  to  the  shoulder,  I'll  work 
for  her.' 

"Just  then  the  old  woman  began  to  moan,  and  the 
little  one  caressed  her;  for  she  had  a  good  heart  .  .  . 
then.  .  .  Oh!  later  it  was  quite  another  matter!  .  .  . 
She  became  a  slut!  .  .  .  It's  easily  said!  .  .  .  Ah! 
we're  human  beings,  and  yet  our  hearts  are  of  stone ! 
.  .  .  But  when  you  marry  a  pleasing  girl,  you  must 
have  thirty-one  days  of  pardon  ready  every  month! 
.  .  .  Instead  of  that  ...  I  chucked  her  out  .  .  .  Ah ! 
my  friends!  .  .  .  Where  is  she  now?  .  .  .  Where  is 
she  for  the  past  eighteen  years?  ...  Is  she  alive? 
...  Is  she  dead?  .  .  .  Ah!  I  hear  she  has  returned 
lately  to  Dijon !  .  .  .  Ah !  ...  if  any  of  you've  seen 
her,  let  him  tell  me  whether  she's  still  a  pretty 
darling!  .  .  .  But  what  am  I  asking  you?  .  .  .  You, 
a  pack  of  drunkards  and  blackguards!  .  .  ,  For  you 
only  want  to  make  me  talk,  and  then  show  me  your 
hellish  teeth  .  .  .  You  want  to  make  me  weep  and 
joke  .  .  .  But  I  don't  give  a  hang  about  you  all !  .  .  . 
And  you're  only  a  gang  of  stingy  louts  and  cobblers ! 
And  I'm  going!  .  .  .  So-long!  ..." 


CHAPTER  III 

BUT  there  are  things  that  Nono  never  related.  They 
were  not  known  to  everybody.  He  alone  knew  of 
their  existence  .  .  .  they  were  slumbering  within  him. 
...  In  the  somber  refuge  of  his  soul,  holy  memories 
were  buried  that  could  not  be  unearthed  .  .  .  But  he 
knew  that  those  memories  were  ready  to  come  forth 
immediately  at  the  strident  call  of  his  solitary  despair, 
ready  to  weep  with  him,  to  relieve  him  from  his  dis- 
tress, to  save  him  from  death.  And  at  times  he  evoked 
them  in  the  agony  of  sleepless  nights  .  .  .  And  they 
rose  forth,  ever  vivid  and  fresh  like  things  which  never 
die!  ...  At  his  invocation,  they  never  failed  to  ap- 
pear .  .  .  the  eternal  visions!  .  .  . 

Nono  would  thus  evoke  his  entire  life  of  love,  from 
the  sad  and  serene  evening  when  all  that  was  to  grow 
into  joy  and  woe  had  taken  root. 

That  evening  Nono  had  just  come  home.  He  was 
busy  in  the  stable  putting  in  order  the  donkey's  litter. 
Suddenly,  on  turning  round,  he  perceived  Nenette. 
She  had  come  up  noiselessly,  and  remained  standing 
with  her  hands  crossed  behind  her  back  leaning  against 
the  brickwork. 

16 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  17 

"Jeanne !  .  .  .  what's  the  matter  ?  .  .  .  ' 

"Mother's  dead,"  she  replied  in  a  calm  voice. 

Nono  put  down  his  prong  after  having  arranged 
some  of  the  scattered  straw. 

"Poor  little  one!  ..."  he  muttered. 

Nono  leaned  his  lanky  body  against  some  faggots 
that  were  piled  up  between  two  vats.  Both  remained 
thus  standing  for  some  time  facing  each  other,  without 
uttering  a  word. 

"My  little  Nenette!  ..."  Nono  at  last  said, 
"Come  up  to  the  house." 

"No,  Jacques !  .  .  .  We  are  quite  well  here.  Here, 
I  can  tell  you  better  what  I've  got  to  say.  I've  come 
over  to  say  good-bye  to  you.  I'm  going  where  my 
mother  is  now.  Jacques!  .  .  .  don't  cry  for  me  too 
much!  I  know  what  to  do:  I  won't  suffer.  My 
mother  and  I  almost  agreed  to  it.  We  talked  a  lot 
together.  During  the  night  ...  as  soon  as  I  heard 
her  toss  about  ...  I  got  up;  I  was  up  before  she 
even  uttered  her  first  groan.  I  then  waited  until  her 
fit  was  over.  While  she  was  suffering  I  held  her  hand : 
that  was  her  only  relief.  Then,  the  crisis  partly  over, 
I  remained,  and  we  talked.  At  first  I  tried  to  reassure 
her.  But  as  soon  as  she  realized  her  condition,  she 
became  calmer.  We  then  spoke  of  our  life  and  death 
as  very  natural  things. 

"Nono,  my  friend,  my  older  brother,  in  spite  of 
what  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  continue  to  love  me  a 
little.  Here  I  am  before  you  with  a  broken  heart 
for  love  of  you.  But  honor  ain't  worth  much.  You 


18  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

see,  I  dreamt  I  was  your  wife  ...  to  share  all  with 
you  .  .  .  Ah!  but  there's  something  terrible  separat- 
ing us  ...  About  two  years'  ago,  a  man  with  his 
head  almost  buried  in  his  sweater  entered  the  house. 
I  was  alone  ironing  the  clothes.  My  mother  had  gone 
to  the  wash-house.  You  surely  recall  that  day?  .  .  . 
As  soon  as  I  got  up,  I  fled;  I  ran  here,  towards  you 
.  .  .  And  he  dared  follow  me !  He  was  standing  just 
where  I'm  now.  I  was  standing  where  you  are  now. 
And  you  were  in  the  yard  washing  some  wine-casks. 
He  and  you  were  talking  together  quite  indifferently. 
But  he,  though  answering  you,  kept  on  staring  at  me. 
And  I  was  trembling  with  fear.  .  .  . 

"My  Nono!  ...  I  wanted  to  be  your  wife  .  .  . 
but  I  wasn't  worthy  of  your  dear  kiss !  .  .  .  Now  I've 
confessed  to  the  only  man  whom  I  love!  .  .  .  And 
this  is  the  last  day  of  my  life!  .  .  .  I'm  going  with 
my  soul  at  peace  .  .  .  Good-bye!  my  friend!  .  .  . 
Good-bye!  my  Jacquot!  .  .  .  It's  getting  dark!  Go 
upstairs.  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  sit  up  by  my  mother.  But 
to-morrow,  rise  early  so  that  it's  you  who  will  close 
my  eyes.  .  .  .  And  since  I'm  only  after  all  an  un- 
fortunate creature  who  leaves  the  world  without  hav- 
ing sinned  willingly,  when  the  undertaker  will  have 
dressed  me,  kiss  me,  Jacquot!  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  didn't  answer ;  but  walked  over  to  Nenette.  He 
took  hold  of  her,  and  raised  her  in  his  arms.  .  .  .  She 
was  as  light  as  a  feather.  .  .  .  She  did  not  resist.  .  .  . 
He  took  several  steps  backwards,  and  sat  down  on 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  19 

the  heap  of  faggots,  with  his  dear  burden  lying  against 
his  breast. 

"Just  lie  like  that  a  bit!  ...  darling!  .  .  .  Don't 
speak !  .  .  .  Don't  move !  .  .  .  Remain  quiet  .  .  .  do, 
my  little  one.  .  .  .  Just  for  a  bit !  .  .  .  ' 

She  obeyed.  .  .  .  And  they  remained  so,  resting  on 
the  dry  faggots,  crouched  like  birds  in  a  nest  made 
rather  hard  by  the  pricking  sprigs. 

Quite  near  them,  the  young  donkey  was  eating,  and 
turned  towards  them  his  peaceful  head.  He  looked 
at  them  tenderly  with  the  pensive  eyes  of  an  old 
scholar.  One  could  hear  his  jaws  grind.  In  the  op- 
posite corner,  the  rabbits,  which  felt  the  presence  of 
someone  friendly,  remained  awake ;  and  now  and  then, 
behind  the  trellis,  a  little  shadow  would  spring  up 
without  fear.  .  .  . 

The  animals  breathed  forth  a  mild  kind  of  warmth. 
There  was  no  seclusion,  but  an  open-hearted  intimacy 
among*beings  inspired  with  the  same  tenderness.  For 
it  is  delightful  to  sleep  or  dream  with  friendly  animals 
nearby.  Their  short,  noiseless  breathing  fills,  little  by 
little,  the  stable  with  an  atmosphere  warm  and  soft 
like  down.  Their  little  obscure  souls  feel  reassured, 
and  gradually  our  peace  becomes  the  same  as  theirs. 

Nono  remained  motionless.  Nenette  lay  stretched 
out  in  his  lap  with  her  head  reclining  on  his  arm.  He 
was  waiting.  .  .  . 

And  the  donkey  turned  towards  him  a  gaze  that 
almost  expressed  sympathy.  One  saw  in  the  darkness 
his  large  eyes  shine  beneath  the  thick  long  lashes.  The 


20  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL1 

young  companion  of  the  roads  and  paths  probably  told 
Nono  to  wait  a  little  longer  in  order  not  to  disturb 
the  sweet  slumber  of  his  dear  one. 

Now  the  moon  shed  her  beams  through  the  door: 
from  distant,  dead  lands  she  brought  a  vermilion  glim- 
mer; and  one  perceived  above  the  poor  roofs,  a  rose- 
colored  corner  of  the  starry  world — of  the  sky  all  in 
motion. 

Nothing  any  longer  disturbed  the  soft  stillness.  Not 
a  straw  moved  beneath  the  springing  rabbits.  The 
donkey's  tail  hardly  wagged;  it  was  as  quiet  and 
friendly  as  smoke  from  a  cottage  roof.  In  the  lowly 
stable  there  reigned  a  humble  and  tender  peace.  .  .  . 

The  regular  breathing  of  Nenette  asleep  descended 
and  caressed  Nono's  hand.  When  he  was  certain  that 
her  slumber  was  profound,  he  rose  with  his  darling  in 
his  arms,  and  walked  out  without  a  noise,  cautiously 
moving  his  heavy  boots.  He  tiptoed  up  to  his  room 
almost  without  making  the  stairs  creak,  and  placed 
Nenette  on  his  bed.  He  picked  up  the  sheet,  covered 
her  with  it,  and  then  covered  her  feet  with  the  feather- 
quilt. 

While  he  was  busy  with  these  attentions,  the  head 
of  his  old  father  appeared,  through  the  half-opened 
door.  Old  Francis  had  his  cotton  bonnet  on.  It  was 
a  huge  mass  of  white  beneath  which  one  could  just 
barely  see  two  little  sly  eyes. 

"What's  this?  .  .  .  Big  beast!  What  are  you  do- 
ing with  that  child?  .  .  .  You  must  have  her  in  your 
own  bed  now?  .  .  " 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  21 

"Stop  your  shouting!  .  .  .  Don't  make  a  noise: 
You're  going  to  wake  her!  .  .  .  Her  mother's 
dead.  ..." 

"Ah!" 

"And  she's  asleep,  the  poor  child !  She's  tired  out ! 
.  .  .  She's  been  up  these  twenty  nights !  .  .  .  She  fell 
asleep  as  soon  as  she  lay  down  ...  at  once  .  .  .  like 
a  musket  shot!  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  she's  sound  asleep !  .  .  .  ' 

The  father  and  son  bent  their  attentive  faces  over 
the  young  girl. 

"Do  you  know?  ..."  said  old  Francis.  "She's 
graceful  like  that!  .  .  .  Look  at  her,  with  her  little 
arms  stretched  out,  her  pretty  little  head  turned  side- 
ways! .  .  .  And  look  at  her  curled  hair:  it's  like  the 
mane  of  a  wild  lion!  .  .  .  And  beneath  it  such  a  sweet 
little  face.  .  .  .  But  what'll  become  of  her  now  ?  .  .  . 
the  poor  child!  .  .  .  ' 

"Well !  ...  Do  you  know,  old  man  ?  .  .  .  I'm  go- 
ing to  marry  her.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  ...  If  you  have  a  mind  to!  ...  " 

"Yes." 

"Well  then!  .  .  .  that's  easy." 

The  old  man  added  after  a  moment's  thought: 
"She's  hardly  plump!  ...  If  you  have  a  mind  to 
.  .  .  it's  all  right !  ...  As  for  me !  ...  I  know  that 
when  I  was  a  postman  in  Le  Pays-Bas,  I  had  to  have 
women  who  were  built  differently  from  that  one !  .  .  ." 

"Old  man!  .  .  .  Dress  yourself!  .  .  .  You'll  re- 
main here!  .  .  You'll  see  to  it  that  the  little  one 


22  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

don't  wake  up  ...  and  if  she  wakes,  see  that  she 
don't  run  away  .  .  .  she  might  take  it  into  her  head 
to  throw  herself  into  the  well!  .  .  .  I'm  going  to 
watch  by  the  dead  woman." 

Nono  spent  the  dreary  hours  of  the  night  sitting 
in  front  of  the  grim  face  and  closed  eyes  of  the  corpse. 
These  eyes  were  angrily  sunk  in  her  black  and  blue 
flesh.  Now  and  then,  they  seemed  to  open  and  stare. 
.  .  .  Her  lips  looked  furious,  her  arms  ready  to 
rise.  .  .  . 

"Ah!  .  .  .  Mother  Clemence!  ...'*•  thought 
Nono.  "She  struggled  hard  before  she  departed  this 
life!  .  .  .  One  can  see  it!  .  .  .  It's  hard  to  die.  .  .  ." 

And  Nono  gave  free  course  in  the  irresistible 
thoughts  that  loom  up  in  one's  mind  when  near  the 
dead.  Even  to  the  simplest  soul,  the  life  of  a  dead 
person  seems  like  a  path  in  the  plain,  a  narrow  stony 
path  which  runs  from  the  horizon  of  dawn  to  the 
horizon  of  night.  .  .  .  And  all  along  this  path,  there 
are  numberless  days,  like  imperceptible  cold  glimmers, 
little  gray  sparks,  without  warmth  and  without  love! 
.  .  .  Throughout  this  path  misery  is  plentiful.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  world  of  human  woes !  ...  It  is  an  entire 
existence  bent  over  the  untilled  soil !  .  .  .  The  pitiless 
task  ends  only  when  the  human  being  lies  down  never 
to  rise  again,  and  crosses  over  his  breathless  chest  his 
arms  without  life.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Nono  was  thinking  of  the  mother  .  .  .  and 
he  was  also  thinking  of  Nenette.  The  life  of  one  had 
been  that  of  a  hapless  woman.  What  would  be  the 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  23 

life  of  the  other?  .  .  .  whom  he  had  just  taken  upon 
his  own  hands.  She  would  be  what  he  would  make 
of  her. 

.  .  .  And  Nono's  eyes  tried  to  penetrate  this  dark- 
ness, to  follow  with  his  gaze  a  tender  little  phantom 
walking  courageously  by  his  side,  hand  in  hand,  along 
the  paths  of  the  future,  in  the  dim  glimmer  of  days 
to  come.  .  .  .  But  would  he  be  able  to  guide  the  steps 
firmly  along  the  path  seething  with  the  iniquities  of 
man?  .  .  .  Nono  had  till  then  only  known  the  neces- 
sary duties  of  a  rustic  life.  Never  yet  had  his  soul 
foreseen  the  severity  and  nobility  of  a  duty  that  comes 
from  on  high.  .  .  .  And  now  in  the  darkness  where 
the  dead  woman  slumbered  ...  his  eyes  perceived  the 
grave  rays !  .  .  . 

But  the  poor  winegrower  was  still  hopeful  despite 
this  gloomy  darkness.  He  felt  within  him  the  resolu- 
tions both  of  love  and  courage.  Courage?  .  .  .  He 
has  plenty  of  it:  he  has  strong  arms,  and  he  is  no 
stranger  to  work  in  the  fields!  .  .  .  He  already  sees 
before  him  those  fields  quivering  with  barley  and 
wheat !  .  .  .  the  vines  recovering  their  old  bloom !  .  .  . 

And  then,  there  is  one  other  thing.  .  .  .  Nono! 
.  .  .  You  will  show  all  the  rancorous  people  that  true 
love  can  forgive  an  involuntary  wrong!  .  .  .  and  can 
nobly  raise  the  eyes  till  then  downcast!  .  .  .  and  can 
infuse  into  the  heart,  in  which  it  lies  tenderly,  the 
pride  of  honor!  .  .  . 

After  a  creaking  of  springs  the  clock  struck  four. 


24  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

At  the  last  sonorous  stroke  the  door  suddenly  opened 
and  Nenette  appeared. 

"What?  .  .  .  Father  let  you  out?  ..."  said 
Nono. 

"The  poor  old  man  is  asleep !  .  .  .  And  I  left  with- 
out making  any  noise.  .  .  .  ' 

"Little  Nenette !  .  .  .  Since  you're  here,  let  me  tell 
you  that  it's  too  late.  It  will  soon  be  morning.  The 
birds  are  already  waking.  Instead  of  closing  your  eyes 
...  let  me  take  your  hand  and  open  my  heart  to 
you." 

"Have  no  fear!  Nono!  .  .  .  My  mother  has  sent 
me  to  sit  by  your  side,  I  look  at  the  dead  face  without 
sorrow,  for  I've  just  seen  her  spirit.  While  you  were 
watching  by  her.  ...  I  was  listening  to  her  in  a 
dream.  But  how  shall  I  tell  you?  ...  I  wanted,  in 
this  dream,  to  accompany  her  on  a  road ;  and  she  con- 
tinued gently  to  push  me  away  from  her  path.  .  .  . 
This  dream  has  saved  me!  .  .  .  Now  I'll  continue  to 
live  alone  in  this  world !  .  .  .  ' 

"Alone?  .  .  .  Darling!  .  .  .  And  I?  ...  Am  I 
dead?  .  .  .  Ah!  I  too  have  just  been  dreaming  of 
many  things!  .  .  .  But  I  was  dreaming  awake.  .  .  . 
It  seems  to  me  I  was  still  a  child  yesterday.  .  .  .  And 
yet  I'm  five-and-twenty !  .  .  .  But  to-day  I've  ideas 
worthy  of  my  age!  .  .  .  Darling!  ...  I  hesitated  a 
long  time  before  letting  you  know;  for  I'll  never  be 
anything  but  a  poor  winegrower.  But  for  want  of 
delicacy,  I  feel  I  have  the  heart  and  courage  necessary 
to  give  you  the  happiness  due  a  good  woman.  .  .  . 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  25 

Dear  Jeanne !  Let's  get  married,  and  love  each  other 
dearly!  ..." 

"O  my  Nono !  Do  you  forget  what  I  told  you  to- 
night? .  .  .  '  And  little  Nenette  covered  her  face 
with  her  hand.  "Do  you  forget  so  quickly?  .  .  .  Ah! 
my  mother  said  to  me:  'You  are  impure,  my  little  one ! 
.  .  .  Your  marriage  will  be  a  falsehood.  .  .  .  ' 

"My  little  girl!  .  .  .  Look  at  your  poor  mother! 
.  .  .  Do  you  see  how  much  she  has  suffered?  .  .  . 
She  must  have  lived  through  terrible  days  to  have 
such  a  face !  .  .  .  I  can  see  all  the  misery  she  has  suf- 
fered: her  sorrow  has  left  its  traces.  .  .  .  And  here 
we  are,  both  of  us,  saying:  'What  a  pity.'  Well,  my 
Nenette!  Would  it  have  been  so,  if  one  day  your 
mother  had  found  someone  to  say  to  her:  'Clemence! 
.  .  .  You  are  as  pure  for  me  as  the  angels.  All  the 
respect  a  man  can  have,  I  have  for  you.  The  wretch, 
who  trampled  on  you,  has  left  no  trace.  Your  soul 
and  heart  have  not  been  befouled.  .  .  .  Will  you  give 
me  them  ?  .  .  .  I  need  them !  ...  If  you  don't  want 
to  have  the  death  of  a  man  on  your  conscience  .  .  . 
.  .  .  well !  .  .  .  You  must  be  mine !  I  must  have  you, 
I  tell  you!  .  .  .  You  must  be  my  young  companion; 
and  later  on,  when  I'm  old  and  you  still  fairly  young, 
your  hands  must  warm  mine!' 

"Do  you  know?  my  Nenette!  ...  If  someone  had 
talked  and  acted  so  to  your  mother,  everything  would 
have  been  different.  Her  end  wouldn't  be  so  heart- 
rending. .  .  .  Instead  of  death,  there  would  be  happi- 
ness in  this  house !  .  .  You  would  have  brothers  and 


26  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

sisters  who  would  laugh,  in  the  evening,  in  all  the 
corners.  .  .  .  And  the  old  husband  and  wife  would 
almost  be  in  the  humor  of  laughing  along  with  them. 
.  .  .  But  her  life  is  ended!  .  .  .  Let  God  have  the 
pity  men  haven't  had!  .  .  .  But  you,  darling!  .  .  . 
you're  still  with  us  ...  alive!  .  .  .  And  I  haven't 
searched  for  you.  You  came  to  the  old  vineyard.  .  .  . 
You  offered  me  what  I  didn't  dare  take.  .  .  .  But 
now.  .  .  .  I've  got  you  and  I'll  keep  you!  .  .  . 

"Look  up  at  me!  .  .  .  Ah!  that's  right!  .  .  .  My 
dear  innocent  girl!  .  .  .  But  how  should  I  tell  you 
what  I  feel  in  my  inmost  heart,  and  for  which  I  find 
no  words?  .  .  .  Look  at  me  again !  .  .  .  You're  fresh 
like  the  morning  dew!  .  .  .  Darling!  .  .  .  Don't 
slander  yourself  any  more!  .  .  . 

"...  Where  do  you  come  from?  .  .  .  My  dear 
girl!  .  .  .  You  just  happened  to  cross  my  path!  .  .  . 
Little  angel!  who  told  you  that  you  must  come  and 
share  the  life  of  this  poor  fellow  ...  to  make  of 
him  the  happiest  and  richest  of  men !  .  .  .  ' 

.  .  .  Little  Nenette  is  kneeling  at  the  side  of  her 
mother's  bed.  ...  It  is  not  in  vain  that  the  living 
die.  .  .  .  When  the  silent  darkness  has  entered  for- 
ever beneath  our  eyelids  .  .  .  then  the  soul  opens  its 
spiritual  eyes.  And  it  sees  into  the  unknown.  .  .  . 
The  poor  beings  who  remain  in  the  merciless  world 
are  still  weeping.  .  .  .  But  all  around  them,  in  the 
darkness  that  the  funereal  candle  hardly  dispels  .  .  . 
a  phantom  without  form,  a  freed  spirit,  tenderly 
brushes  by  them  .  .  .  warns  them.  .  .  .  Nenette  feels 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  27 

it:  the  hand  she  is  holding  in  her  own  is  growing  cold 
and  hard  .  .  .  the  face  she  is  contemplating  is  lifeless 
.  .  .  but  it  is  in  her  soul  now  that  she  finds  the  well- 
beloved  presence.  .  .  . 

Her  mind  goes  back  to  distant  memories,  and  she 
looks  at  the  pleasant  face  of  the  one  who  rocked  her 
cradle!  .  .  .  And  that  face  grown  young  again  smiles 
.  .  .  and  shows  the  path  leading  onward. 

"...  My  little  girl!  .  .  .  The  day  is  come!  .  .  . 
Rise  now !  .  .  .  The  neighbors  will  soon  be  here.  ..." 

"Is  it  morning  already?" 

"Why,  yes!  ...  Lookout!  ..." 

They  went  to  the  window  where  the  sky  was 
brightening,  the  dawn  scattering  everywhere  its  many 
rays.  The  open  road  turned  in  front  of  them,  and 
beneath  the  long  shadows  of  the  lime-trees,  it  descended 
towards  the  light.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  love  of  Nono  and  Nenette  began  in  the  midst 
of  sorrow ;  and  the  first  conversation  of  the  lovers  was 
solemn.  Death,  which  had  just  visited  their  house, 
still  encompassed  them  with  its  lingering  shadow. 
Their  startled  life  as  yet  did  not  dare  set  up  any  fresh 
hopes.  Their  love  wakened  gradually,  uneasily,  from 
the  ruthless  horror  of  the  night. 

But  time  continued  its  course ;  the  days  grew  longer ; 
March  had  come. 

And  little  by  little,  on  these  hearts  which  abandoned 
themselves  gently  to  fate,  love  came  and  shed  its  blos- 
soming rays,  and  spring  arose  with  its  fresh  dew  and 
soft  sunshine. 

One  evening  in  March,  Nono  was  still  washing  the 
few  dishes  after  dinner,  while  old  Francis  was  out 
on  the  balcony  sneezing  and  enjoying  the  fresh  air. 

The  old  man  called: 

"Hey !  Jacques !  come  and  see !" 

"What?" 

"A  very  little  birdie  crouching  at  the  foot  of  our 
wall." 

"Oh!  little  birdie!  .  .  .  It's  a  young  one:  spring 
has  made  it  dizzy ;  it  has  no  wings ;  it  flies  awkwardly. 
A  little  wind  or  rain  terrifies  it ;  and  it  alights  at  once, 
anywhere  at  all.  We  mustn't  hurt  it." 

-:  28 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  29 

"I  say !  Come  and  see  it,  instead  of  babbling  in  that 
way.  You'll  tell  me  later  whether  she  just  alighted 
anywhere." 

Nono  went  to  see.  On  bending  over,  he  perceived 
a  vague  slender  form  near  the  wall.  She  was  sitting 
half-way  on  the  tub  of  a  rosebay,  fidgeting  there  like 
a  shy  child  that  is  restless  on  a  chair.  She  raised 
towards  the  window  her  bright  face,  and  on  it  one 
divined  a  sweet  smile. 

"Well,  hey!"  said  old  Francis.  "What  do  you  say 
of  this  little  birdie?  Did  it  fly  here  unintentionally? 
Answer,  eh?  ...  Look  at  her  .  .  .  holding  to  the 
wall  like  a  frightened  animal.  She  moves  just  enough 
to  be  seen  in  the  dark.  .  .  .  You  bandit!  .  .  .  She's 
looking  for  you  now!  .  .  .  ' 

Nono's  voice  descended  softly  from  above:  "Little 
friend!  ..." 

A  soft  coaxing  voice  arose:  "Jacques!  .  .  .  ' 

Old  Francis  was  shaking  his  head  and  gazing  at 
the  many  pointed  roofs  that  could  be  seen  in  the 
distance.  A  heavy  sky  poured  darkness  over  all ;  and 
below,  across  the  earth,  spring  was  quickening  the 
trees  and  plants  to  life.  The  dark  air  was  as  fragrant 
as  the  fumes  that  rise  from  a  plowed  field.  A  gentle 
breeze  blowing  from  the  mountains  brought  with  it 
the  sweet  scent  of  the  forest  oaks  and  of  the  fallow 
land. 

"Come  on,  little  one!  Come  and  bid  us  good 
evening." 

"Come  up !  little  friend !" 


30  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

A  furtive  step  sounded  on  the  stairs;  and  Nenette 
soon  entered.  Old  Francis  asked  her:  "Well!  .  .  . 
Here  you  are,  little  one!  .  .  .  Why  didn't  you  want 
to  come  and  say  good  evening?  Hey!  .  .  .  naughty 
creature.  .  .  .  Ah!  you  rascals!  .  .  .  What  are  you 
doing  there  in  the  dark  near  the  woodstack?  .  .  . 
Squeezing  hands,  eh?  ...  See  that  you  don't  go  too 
far !  ...  Have  a  bit  of  patience,  and  don't  go  quicker 
than  the  cure ;  give  him  a  chance  to  set  things  in  order 
with  God  Almighty  regarding  your  marriage.  .  .  . 
Ah !  I  hear  a  noise  that  sounds  more  like  kissing  than 
the  ticking  of  the  clock!  And  now  you're  moving 
your  chairs  together.  I  suppose  you  can't  hear  each 
other.  Go  right  on!  ...  Act  as  if  you  were  in  your 
own  home!  .  .  .  But  since  you  don't  bother  about 
me,  and  I  seem  to  be  talking  to  the  air,  I'll  go  to  bed." 

The  two  lovers  continued  to  speak  for  a  long  time 
in  a  low  voice.  Their  free  hearts  whispered  to  each 
other  sentiments  of  devotion  and  tenderness. 

The  flames  of  the  fire  disappeared,  the  embers  died 
out  beneath  the  ashes.  The  words  of  Nono  and 
Nenette  gradually  became  less  audible,  and  sank  into 
murmurs  and  kisses. 

The  month  of  March  is  still  but  the  very  beginning 
of  spring;  all  is  yet  premature  and  bare:  the  earth  is 
still  ungarnished  and  the  branches  are  dry;  this  early 
spring  brings  with  it  only  scant  flowers  and  sunbeams. 

April  is  the  month  when  the  earth  bedecks  herself. 
It  is  moistened  with  dew,  perfumed  with  fresh  moss, 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  31 

and  decked  with  periwinkles.  The  days  grow  brighter, 
and  there  awakens  a  fresh  easterly  breeze  that  caresses 
us  tenderly  in  the  mellow  sunshine. 

On  Sunday  after  Easter,  on  one  of  those  radiant 
April  afternoons  the  two  lovers  were  walking  together 
towards  the  wood  of  Caillee:  The  wind  brought  them 
a  breath  of  verdure  and  of  fresh  water.  A  green  mist 
spread  over  the  trees  of  the  forest.  The  slender 
branches  of  the  peach-trees  were  strewn  with  blos- 
soms. The  peaceful  almond-trees  were  already  covered 
with  their  fragrant  snow-white  mantle.  And  because 
of  the  host  of  things  that  begin  to  bloom  and  love  on 
the  coming  of  the  spring  sunshine,  because  of  the 
waking  of  the  wings  of  all  that  lives,  there  was  in 
love-intoxicated  nature  a  murmur  of  sap,  a  sweep  of 
lapping  water  and  of  waving  grass,  a  rippling  of 
brooklets. 

The  two  lovers  hearkened  to  their  divine  hymn  of 
creation,  spring  murmuring  like  the  love  which  was 
making  their  hearts  beat. 

They  were  sitting  near  the  outskirts  of  the  wood. 
.  .  .  Stretching  out  a  little,  they  were  beneath  the 
blossoming  branches.  Their  nest  of  love  and  caresses 
lay  beneath  a  hawthorn-bush.  Surrounding  nature 
rocked  them  with  her  song  and  sheltered  them  with 
her  wings,  and  fired  them  with  a  sense  of  mystery  and 
exultation.  Their  lips  uttered  love's  universal  lan- 
guage. .  .  . 

...  A  soft,  breathless  whisper  could  be  heard.    It 


32  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

was  like  the  low  imperceptible  rustling  of  an  April 
breeze  over  the  young  rye.  .  .  .  Nenette  suddenly 
started  up,  pushing  Nono  from  her;  but  her  conquered 
lips  yielded  a  hopeful  promise. 

"Yes.  ...  Yes  ...  to-night" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Nono  standing  up.  "My  joy  is 
worse  than  pain  ...  it  brings  tears  to  my  eyes  .  .  . 
it  makes  my  flesh  creep.  .  .  .  ' 

And  now  the  evening  is  come;  the  promised  hour 
is  approaching  .  .  .  the  two  lovers  are  waiting  for  the 
night  to  advance.  .  .  . 

Here  is  at  last  the  silent  night  which  shrouds  like 
a  forest  the  love  of  man,  a  night  with  a  blue  darkness, 
warm  like  a  well-clad  being.  .  .  . 

In  front  of  their  little  house,  beneath  the  spreading 
vine,  the  two  lovers  are  sitting  on  a  stone  bench.  In 
the  distance  can  be  heard  the  trembling  of  the  trains. 
Still  further,  beneath  the  poplars  of  Bo'ise  and  the 
willows  of  Mansouse,  the  croaking  of  the  frogs.  The 
simple  frogs  are  celebrating  their  paltry  loves  in  the 
mud.  The  blue  night  is  rilled  with  their  tender 
croaking. 

Dim  lights  appear  one  by  one  along  the  roads.  The 
moon  glides  towards  the  crags  of  the  mountain;  and, 
from  its  livid  and  death-like  face,  a  light  descends 
upon  the  living  earth.  .  .  .  The  two  lovers  search  in 
vain  for  words  that  will  reveal  their  inmost  feelings. 
They  have  no  other  language  but  that  of  the  eternal 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  33 

murmur  which  has  united  their  lips,  and  which  makes 
the  heart  babble  like  a  spring.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Everything  they  feel — this  silence  where  one 
can  almost  hear  the  limpid  expanse  breathe — this  sub- 
lime and  noble  sentiment  which  penetrates  them  like 
water  pure  and  cool — all  that  descends  into  their  hearts 
with  ecstasy  and  kindles  the  magic  life  of  love.  .  .  . 
And  love  comes  and  adorns  the  wild  rose-bush  with 
flowers.  ...  It  brings  forth  the  fresh-blown  eglan- 
tine. .  .  . 

.  .  .  They  do  not  speak;  but  their  eyes  and  their 
caresses  sing  beneath  the  spreading  vine,  on  the  coming 
of  night,  the  supreme  hymn.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Hosts  of  unsatisfied  desires  awaken  in  them. 
An  intense,  rapturous  chill  comes  over  them — a  breath 
of  great  delight  and  agony — under  which  their  be- 
wildered souls  tremble.  And  they  are  like  many  others 
in  the  power  of  the  eternal  law;  they  call  for  the 
master  before  whom  all  flesh  tenderly  yields  and 
trembles  for  joy — the  relentless  master  who  tears 
asunder,  one  by  one,  the  heart-strings  of  his 
slaves.  .  .  . 

He  pleads  with  her:  "Come!  my  darling  Nenette. 
Let  us  go  to  your  house  ...  in  your  house,  yes  ?  .  .  . 
You  promised.  .  .  .  ' 

She  does  not  answer  .  .  .  she  no  longer  hears  .  .  . 
the  moments  of  silence  have  come.  .  .  . 

Nono  rises  softly,  and  takes  Nenette  in  his  arms. 
Without  saying  a  word,  she  puts  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  he  carries  her  noiselessly  thus,  up  the 


34  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

dark  staircase.  He  climbs  softly  the  wooden  steps. 
In  the  darkness  he  holds  aloft  his  light  and  loving 
burden  bearing  it  towards  that  old  ancestral  bed  of 
so  many  births  and  so  many  agonies.  .  .  . 

"Old  man!"  said  Nono  to  his  father.  "Old  man! 
You  must  hurry  and  clamber  up  to  town.  Go  to  the 
mayor  and  try  to  have  him  advance  our  marriage  a 
fortnight.  Dress  up  well;  put  on  your  new  blouse, 
and  your  gamekeeper's  cap.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  I  understand!  .  .  .  Overgrown  blackguard! 
Big  rascal!  .  .  .  Ah!  so  that's  what  you're  at!  ... 
You  couldn't  have  waited?  Eh?  ...  I  thought  so. 
...  I  was  saying:  'They're  going  to  pair  off  some 
night  in  the  moonlight;  we  must  hurry  to  the  parish 
priest  and  have  him  arrange  matters  in  accordance 
with  the  Christian  sauce  .  .  .  have  him  bless  your 
rascality  as  if  it  was  the  Host's  bread.  .  .  .  Hurry, 
eh!  ...  Ah!  how  people  will  laugh  at  you,  if  they'll 
see  a  beardless  recruit  appear  in  this  world,  clad  as 
a  nurseling,  whom  they  expected  six  weeks  later  .  .  . 
at  the  very  least.  You'll  both  be  in  a  fine  fix  ...  Ah ! 
it'll  serve  you  right!  .  .  .  Little  rogues!  .  .  .  After 
all  the  season  had  its  share,  too.  It's  spring  that's  the 
blackguard.  ...  I  know  it!  ...  Long  ago,  when  I 
was  a  carrier  in  Le  Pays-Bas.  .  .  .  ' 

"Go  ahead,  and  put  your  new  blouse  on!" 


CHAPTER  V 

AFTER  the  wedding,  old  Francis  gave  up,  as  it  was 
customary,  the  rooms  of  the  first  floor  to  the  young 
couple;  and  he  would  clamber  to  the  garret  every 
night.  From  the  very  first  morning,  it  was  he  who 
waked  the  young  couple  after  his  own  manner. 

"Hey  there!  what's  the  matter?  .  .  .  Aren't  you 
getting  up  any  more?  .  .  .  Eh?  .  .  .  The  mule  has 
its  snout  at  the  door,  and  it  has  nothing  to  put  in  its 
mouth  except  its  braying !  What  are  you  waiting  for  ? 
...  Eh?  ...  And  then  the  little  one?  ...  What  is 
she  doing?  That's  right,  little  one,  hide  your  little 
face  under  the  sheet!  ...  I  can  see  you,  just  the 
same.  .  .  .  Big  lazy  fellow !  .  .  .  You  must  take  care 
of  these  little  ones.  They're  tender:  they  need 
care  and  gentleness.  Remember  you're  a  great  big 
hulking  man!  Lazy-bones!  .  .  .  Get  up!  .  .  .  I'm 
thirsty!  ..." 

"Are  you  going  to  make  this  racket  every  morning? 
Can't  you  leave  us  young  folks  alone,  old  fool?  Get 
away  and  let  us  dress." 

The  married  couple  got  up.  Nono  lit  the  fire,  and 
Nenette  prepared  the  soup.  While  she  was  doing  her 
house  work,  old  Francis  continually  kept  staring  at 
her  with  his  little  sharp  and  pert  eyes.  Sitting  in 

35 


36  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

the  corner  of  the  fire-place,  he  languidly  shook  his 
long  face,  thin,  freckled,  and  fretted  with  squalid 
wrinkles.  He  opened  his  large  toothless  mouth  where 
his  tongue  was  rolled  up  like  a  spiral  shell. 

"Well!  you  see,  my  Nenette,"  said  Nono,  "that's 
my  old  man !  He  makes  the  same  racket  almost  every 
day.  .  .  . 

"Every  morning  he  crouches  near  the  fire,  and 
starts  his  endless  preaching:  he  predicts  frost,  hail, 
the  Prussians  in  France,  the  death  of  the  mule  or  of 
the  pig.  .  .  .  And  then  he  sneezes  and  blows  his  nose 
in  the  fire.  All  that  is  in  the  bones  of  an  old  drunkard. 
In  the  morning,  he  must  spit  and  bawl  a  bit!" 

Old  Francis  shook  his  head,  and  continued  in  the 
nasal  and  solemn  tone  of  old  men:  "In  Le  Pays-Bas, 
when  I  was  a  postman.  ...  * 

"All  right,  old  man,  enough!  .  .  .  Come  and  eat 
your  soup.  .  .  .  ' 

Having  eaten  his  soup,  the  old  man  drank  a  glass 
of  wine,  filled  his  pipe,  and  began  to  hold  forth:  "Ah! 
.  .  .  Jacques!  .  .  .  Do  you  recall?  I  said:  "There's 
wood  in  the  wood-stack,  bacon  in  the  salting-tub,  and 
wine  in  the  cellar:  we  can  laugh  at  everybody.  Well, 
no!  .  .  .  The  principal  thing  is  wanting:  a  house  with- 
out a  woman  is  like  a  fire  without  a  flame — just 
good  enough  to  smoke  a  sausage.  ...  In  fact,  look 
at  this  little  rogue!  .  .  .  How  she  turns  and  twists! 
,.  .  .  How  she  flutters  about!  .  .  .  Worse  than  a 
butterfly!  .  .  .  Just  look  at  that  curly  head  and 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  37 

the  pert  little  white  petticoat,  and  the  knavish  little 
waist.  .  .  . 

"...  She  gracefully  affects  to  be  furious.  But 
all  that,  it's  the  old  story  of  wheeling  and  spinning 
about,  to  show  her  impetuous  youth.  .  .  .  It's  the 
trick  of  the  flirt,  and  of  the  little  knave !  .  .  . 

"Oh!  I  know  a  thing  or  two  in  the  matter  of 
women!  I've  had  my  fill  of  all  those  poor  creatures! 
...  I  was  a  hot  one.  Yes,  I  was  quite  a  knave  in 
my  days.  Now  I'm  an  old  rogue;  but  I've  petted  so 
many  round  cheeks  that  I'm  not  at  a  loss  in  a  fair 
of  women.  So  listen  to  my  warning,  Jacques;  take 
good  care,  Jacques!  .  .  .  ' 

"Take  care  of  what  ?  .  .  .  You  old  fool,  you  hardly 
have  faith  in  your  daughter-in-law  and  son.  .  .  .  ' 

"Look-  here :  you  should've  married  a  simple  girl, 
not  mischievous,  one  well  set  up,  with  strong  limbs 
and  solid  hips,  a  sensible  girl,  but  not  too  brainy. 
That's  what  I  think !  .  .  .  When  I  married,  I  got  the 
kindest  and  most  stupid  girl  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try. And  therefore  I  was  happy.  .  .  .  ' 

"Look  here!  .  .  .  Have  some  pity  on  the  child: 
she's  my  wife!  .  .  .  she's  your  child  .  .  .  and  now 
you're  making  her  cry.  Old  fool,  you  don't  seem  to 
realize  that  our  love  is  quite  old,  and  seems  as  if  it 
was  born  with  us.  My  Nenette!  My  darling  sweet- 
heart! .  .  .  Don't  cry!" 

And  Nono  gently  bent  over  his  young  wife,  and 
his  long  swarthy  face  leaned  tenderly  over  her  charm- 


458417 


38  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

ing  forehead,  covering  it  with  his  breath  and  his 
shadow.  .  .  . 

"Father  Francis!"  said  Nenette,  turning  to  the  old 
man,  "against  whom  have  you  got  a  grudge?" 

"Ah!  Little  Jeanne!" — gravely  continued  the  old 
man  swaying  his  old  head  up  and  down — "little 
Jeanne,  you've  a  good  heart  and  you're  my  worthy 
child.  But  what  I'm  saying  is  inspired  by  the  wisdom 
of  the  aged.  The  truth  comes  out  from  old  people; 
and  she's  pitiless.  She  is  a  knave  that  doesn't  scrape 
too  hard  the  old  barks,  but  she  lops  off  the  young 
trees,  ransacks  the  young  birds,  and,  in  a  word,  hardly 
fancies  youth." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Nenette  in  such  a 
resigned  and  soft  tone  of  voice  that  Nono  rose  sud- 
denly. 

"Now !  .  .  .  I'm  going.  .  .  .  I've  got  enough  of  it. 
.  .  .  I've  a  mind  to  say:  'Let  the  old  people  croak!' 
But  it's  hardly  Christian.  I'm  off.  I've  my  work  else- 
where. Good-bye,  my  Nenette." 

When  Nono  had  left,  old  Francis,  both  hands 
crossed  over  the  crook  of  his  stick,  began  to  take 
snuff,  sneeze,  and  noisily  clear  his  throat.  .  .  .  Raa. 
.  .  .  Raa.  .  .  .  Raa.  .  .  . 

"Father! — asked  Nenette — why  do  you  say  my 
husband  must  be  careful?  ...  Of  what,  or  of 
whom?  .  .  .  ' 

"I  mean  you  must  be  careful." 

"But  why?" 

"Because  a  married  woman  who's  too  pretty  is  like 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  39 

a  thoroughbred  horse  in  shafts.  He's  a  fine  sight,  and 
dandy  for  driving;  but  at  his  very  first  whim  he 
throws  his  driver  into  a  ditch  and  that  breaks  his  neck 
for  good." 

"I'm  not  a  pretty  girl;  and  you  know  quite  well 
that  I  love  my  husband  very  much." 

"That's  true ;  your  heart  is  sincere,  and  you've  never 
given  it  to  anyone  but  to  my  blockhead.  ...  I  know 
it.  ...  But  if  the  heart  never  belonged  to  anyone 
.  .  .  the  leg  was  more  liberal.  .  .  .  Eh!  little  one! 
your  face  is  as  red  as  a  cherry  now!  But  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  I  want  to  warn  you,  my 
girl.  .  .  .  No  more  such  affairs  now.  .  .  .  We'll 
never  talk  of  it  again;  but  see  that  you  have  no  more 
fancies — of  the  heart.  .  .  .  Remember  you  have  an 
old  shark  that  sees,  and  who  knows  many  things  about 
you  that  Nono  ignores.  .  .  .  " 

"Father!  I  told  him  all.  ..." 

"Oh!  .  .  .  little  one!  ...  Let's  not  say  that!" 

"Yes!  ...  I    told   Jacques   that    Renardin   once. 

» 

•  .  . 

"Once!  .  .  .  Once!  ...  Goon!  ...  Goon!  .  .  . 
That's  strange!  .  .  .  but  when  girls  affect  to  confess 
to  a  man — they  go  as  far  as  the  nail.  If  the  man  is 
not  stupid  he  guesses  as  far  as  the  finger;  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact  it  reaches  as  far  as  the  hand.  .  .  .  And 
upon  my  word,  if  it  doesn't  reach  as  far  as  the  arm 
...  it  ain't  usually  her  fault.  ..." 

"Oh!  .  .  .  Father!  .  .  .  Grandfather!  ..." 
Nenette  hid  her  head  in  her  apron  and  cried. 


40  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

"Well !  .  .  .  little  one !  .  .  .  Despite  all  your  charm 
and  cunning,  I  had  but  to  say  two  or  three  words 
to  my  big  Nono  .  .  .  and  you'd  never  have  shared  his 
hearth." 

"Yes!  .  .  .  I  would!  ..." 

"No!  .  .  .  You  wouldn't!  ..."  replied  the  old 
man  with  a  doleful  firmness. 

He  then  continued  in  a  gentler  voice:  "No,  I  tell 
you!  .  .  .  If  you  had  told  him  everything,  he  wouldn't 
have  married  you.  That  fellow.  ...  I  know  him 
better  than  everybody  else.  I  haven't  borne  him  like 
his  mother ;  but  I've  seen  him  live  and  work.  I  know 
his  soul.  I  see  it  as  if  it  were  in  a  glass  before  me. 
He's  proud.  He  doesn't  look  it.  He  won't  eat  any- 
thing someone  else  nibbled  at.  He'd  croak  of  hunger 
rather,  than  force  into  his  miserable  empty  belly  the 
rest  of  another's  feast.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  .  .  .  Grandfather!"  said  Nenette,  raising 
towards  the  old  man  her  tearful  and  distressed  face. 
"Oh!  .  .  .  Grandfather!  .  .  .  What  will  become  of 
me?  .  .  .  Don't  do  me  any  harm.  ...  If  you  knew! 
.  .  .  I've  changed  entirely  now.  I  was  quite  little. 
...  I  didn't  know  anything.  .  .  .  I've  been  wronged 
in  a  house  .  .  .  but  I  had  no  one  to  defend  me.  .  .  .  ' 

The  frail  young  woman  looked  up  to  the  motionless 
old  man  with  an  imploring  face  and  clasped  hands. 
The  little  shrewd  eyes  stared  at  her  without  harshness. 

"Don't  do  me  any  harm,  Grandfather!  .  .  .  Don't 
say  anything  to  Jacques;  let  me  live  my  humble  life 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  41 

here.  .  .  .  I'm  so  happy  here.  ...  I  promise — you'll 
see:  I'll  be  good." 

Old  Francis  stretched  out  his  wrinkled  hand,  twisted 
like  a  root,  and  caressed  the  young  curly  head  which 
was  bent  towards  him. 

"Ah!  little  Jeanne!  ...  I  think  so  too.  But  let's 
come  to  an  understanding.  Let's  try  and  be  friends. 
The  old  people,  who've  done  and  seen  everything,  are 
more  indulgent  than  a  young  man  can  be.  ...  Don't 
cry,  little  Jeanne!  ...  I'm  not  your  enemy.  I  love 
you  and  know  you,  believe  me !  I  know  you've  a  good 
heart.  .  .  .  But  your  head  is  a  little  fanciful,  and  the 
flesh  is  ever  knavish.  Well !  .  .  .  You  must  reconcile 
all  that.  .  .  .  You  mustn't  give  this  to  Nono,  and  that 
to  others.  .  .  .  But  try  and  put  all  in  the  same  hand." 


CHAPTER  VI 

Two  months  after  her  marriage,  Nenette,  one  even- 
ing, was  coming  home  all  bent  beneath  a  large  truss 
of  hay  and  grass  for  the  rabbits.  She  was  carrying 
it  in  her  arm,  rolled  up  in  her  blue  linen  apron.  Now 
and  then,  she  straightened  her  heavy  bundle^with  a 
blow  of  her  arm  that  exerted  her  entire  delicate  body. 
She  took  off  her  white  hood,  and  her  black  curls 
wantoned  in  the  breeze.  Her  short  winegrower's  skirt 
was  beating  against  her  ankles.  She  nervously  turned 
in  every  direction  her  little  sharp  face,  tanned  by  the 
sun,  looking  merrily  for  some  friendly  cheerful  greet- 
ings. 

But  there  were  no  friends;  she  only  met  with  a 
hostile  group  of  four  winegrowers.  They  were  of 
those  who  are  the  first  to  go  home,  and  who  stop  and 
gossip  at  crossroads.  With  a  gaping  mouth,  imper- 
tinent eyes  beneath  grayish  lashes,  the  cap  over  the 
ear,  they  malevolently  stare  at  the  passers-by  and  at 
the  entire  universe. 

Flon-Flon,  one  of  them,  was  a  big  fellow,  rather 
stoutish  and  badly  shaved.  He  held  with  both  hands  his 
empty  basket  which  was  hanging  down  his  back.  He 
was  slowly  turning  his  large  uncouth  frame  towards 
the  four  horizons.  He  perceived  Nenette  first. 

42 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  43 

"Ah!  look:  the  cracked  woman  is  coming,  with  her 
hair  fluttering  in  the  air.  Watch  her  cut  along;  she's 
very  thin,  but  she's  as  fiery  as  live  coal.  She's  nervous 
and  cracked.  Why,  she's  a  bundle  of  nerves  and 
whims.  She's  not  French.  Her  mother  brought  her 
here  from  heaven  knows  where.  She  must  have  negro, 
Tartar  or  Gypsy  blood." 

Nenette  passed  by,  however,  rapidly,  in  a  flurry, 
casting  a  naive,  coaxing  glance.  In  her  light  chatter- 
ing voice,  she  greeted  the  group.  Flon-Flon,  the  tall 
uncouth  wag,  insolently  fixed  upon  her  his  two  little 
sly  and  stony  eyes,  deeply  sunk  in  folds  of  scarlet 
flesh. 

Beside  this  portly  peasant,  bubbling  over  with  health, 
triumphant  with  flesh,  and  whose  veins  were  full  of 
rancorous  blood,  Briquet  appeared  like  a  poor  cadaver- 
ous being  with  a  little  crouching  dark  head,  and  keen 
eyes,  distended  like  those  of  a  suffering  cat.  But  he 
began  vehemently: 

"She's  playing  for  us  a  pretty  fine  comedy;  and  her 
love  affair  is  the  grossest  nonsense  we've  ever  seen 
across  the  vines.  Why!  she  and  her  blockhead  of  a 
husband  do  nothing  but  lick  each  other  in  the  vine- 
yard! I've  never  seen  a  bigger  idiot  than  that  big 
Nono  trying  to  put  on  sweet  airs  and  make  graceful 
faces.  He's  certainly  changed,  that  confounded  ass! 
He  gave  up  his  friends,  the  cafe,  skittles.  .  .  .  All 
the  time  he's  with  his  little  wild  beast.  .  .  .  And  be- 
sides, he's  working  himself  to  death  and  he's  happy 


44  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

.  .  .  With  his  silly  look  and  gaping  mouth,  the  idiot 
parades  his  happiness  before  everybody." 

"Eh!  ...  Eh!  ...  Listen,  friends!  ..."  said 
Fumeron — another  little  fellow,  stunted,  nervous,  with 
a  greenish  complexion,  and  whose  yellow  icy  eyes  cast 
sharp  glances — "Listen,  friends!  .  .  .  I've  seen  many 
a  lover:  some  are  hot,  others  cool,  still  others  proud, 
and  many  are  stupid.  .  .  .  When  a  woman  has  in  her 
grip  the  tip  of  a  man's  nose,  you  can  never  tell  to 
what  tune  she'll  make  him  dance  .  .  .  whether  it's  the 
polka  of  the  old  folks  or  the  quadrille  of  the  young 
rabbits.  .  .  .  But  remember  what  I  tell  you:  Nono 
will  soon  dance  a  triangle  with  Renardin,  who  is  very 
clever  at  that  sort  of  thing;  and  the  farther  he'll  go 
the  more  complex  will  the  music  become;  there'll  be 
fiddles,  clarinettes,  trombones  and  perhaps  a  church 
choir." 

"Never  mind!  ...  let  things  take  their  course, 
friends!  .  .  .  We'll  have  our  revenge.  Renardin 
knows  a  great  deal  about  the  saucy  creature.  He  had 
the  first  draught  of  the  pretty  one.  And  our  Nono, 
content  and  not  proud,  is  drawing  at  the  dregs  with 
gusto.  But  he'll  soon  lose  his  breath  drawing  in  that 
way.  And  when  his  first  heat  is  over  .  .  .  beware! 
.  .  .  The  day  for  the  friends  will  come." 

"And  one  fine  morning — I  speak  my  mind — Nono 
on  walking  will  turn  his  dull  little  eyes  sideways  and 
smile  sweetly  to  his  wife  .  .  .  but  he'll  find  nothing 
.  .  .  neither  fire  nor  smoke.  She'll  be  off  with  a 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  45 

paramour.  Ah!  on  that  day,  the  village  will  laugh. 
.  .  .  But  will  you  have  a  pinch  of  snuff,  friends?  .  .  . 
Flammeche!  .  .  .  stupid  beast!  You're  not  saying  a 
word!  ..." 

Flammeche  said  nothing  because  he  thought  of  noth- 
ing: a  poor  drunkard  with  a  dry  face  and  a  long, 
dirty  red  beard,  and  large,  round,  tearful  eyes  emitting 
an  unfocused  wild  gleam. 

And  the  four  slanderers  dug  into  the  open  snuff- 
"box,  staring  at  the  delicate  and  slender  form  of 
Nenette  as  she  disappeared  in  the  distance. 

The  evening,  sweet-tempered  like  an  old  friend  who 
comes  from  a  long  journey  and  places  his  staff  at 
the  threshold,  descended — with  a  melancholy  and 
human  gravity — from  the  mountain  towards  the  vale. 
It  was  an  evening  in  August.  The  upper  atmosphere, 
purified  by  the  sun,  was  as  limpid  as  pure  crystal. 
The  warm  earth  sent  forth  fragrant  vapors.  Before 
all  who  returned  from  the  plain  or  from  the  vine- 
yards, the  mountain  stood  like  a  huge  black  mass ;  its 
unswerving,  solitary  summit  soared  gracefully  in  the 
sky.  The  crests  opened  on  their  flanks  their  gulfs  of 
darkness  where  the  woody  slopes  and  the  first  shades 
of  night  trembled.  On  high  were  the  forests,  the 
hosts  of  oaks,  the  craggy  rocks,  and  the  precipices 
where  the  frantic  blasts  of  the  wind  blow.  Below,  at 
the  foot  of  the  hills,  were  the  lit-up  villages,  buzzing 
like  beehives. 

"Jacques !  .  .  .  "  said  Nenette  on  coming  home  that 


46  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

night.  "I  don't  know  what  I've  done  to  your  friends ; 
but  every  time  I  meet  them,  they  eye  me  up  like  a 
ferocious  beast." 

"My  friends!  .  .  .  What  friends?" 

"Flon-Flon,  Briquet,  Flammeche,  Fumeron.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  they're  not  my  friends.  They've  served  with 
me  in  the  army,  that's  all.  We'd  go  out  together  when 
we  were  young;  but  now  I've  other  things  on  my 
mind." 

"But  you  did  associate  with  them,  and  now  they're 
angry  because  you've  left  them.  And  they're  not  the 
only  people:  there  are  other  winegrowers  here  who 
don't  like  us.  ...  " 

"Oh!  .  .  .  that's  true.  Some  of  the  winegrowers 
are  good-natured:  but  there  are  also  others  who  as- 
sume strange  airs,  indeed,  in  these  parts  of  the  coun- 
try. They're  a  pack  of  cracked  beasts,  blacker  than 
roots,  with  bald  pates,  and  no  more  lashes  than  rats. 
They're  ever  fretting,  steeped  in  gall,  envying  Tom. 
.  .  .  Dick  .  .  .  conspiring  against  their  neighbor  and 
ready  to  bring  about  his  misery;  they're  cursing  the 
earth,  the  heavens,  the  rich  and  the  poor.  .  .  .  And 
by  dint  of  ever  spitting  and  being  galled,  they  become 
as  dry  as  old  hoofs. 

"Only  Flon-Flon  has  a  round  paunch  and  enjoys 
fine  health.  He's  also  a  member  of  the  municipal 
council.  His  name  is  not  Flon-Flon;  he  belongs  to 
the  Claudiot  family.  He  hates  me  more  than  anyone 
else.  I  know  it,  believe  me.  He  begrudges  me  my 
happiness  and  my  industry.  But  he  can  only  talk, 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  47 

that's  all.  He's  such  a  toad-eater  and  coward  that 
he  was  once  called  Bootlicker;  but  Flon-Flon  is  the 
right  name  for  such  an  idle  boaster  and  braggart. 

"You  mustn't  think  all  winegrowers  are  bad.  There 
are  many  who're  good.  And  Briquet  has  a  good  wife. 
It  seems  they'll  soon  be  our  neighbors.  They've  taken 
Bressan's  lodgings  from  Martinmas  day. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  That's  right.  .  .  .  Briquet  is  only  a 
poor,  mad  fellow.  But  Fumeron  is  the  worst  of 
knaves.  Faith,  he  was  long  enough  in  prison.  He 
always  thinks  he's  forgotten  something  when  he  hasn't 
stolen  anything.  .  .  .  Flammeche,  however,  ain't  more 
wicked  and  cunning  than  an  ox  or  a  rock." 

"Yet  you  can  talk  to  them  and  persuade  them  we're 
not  their  enemies." 

"Persuade  what?"  said  the  ungracious  Nono. 
"They've  nasty  pates,  and  they  can't  be  persuaded. 
They're  hopeless.  Don't  you  see  that  it's  all  mean 
jealousy.  They  hoped  to  make  of  me  a  buffoon  for 
their  amusement;  and  they're  enraged  because  I'm 
leading,  thanks  to  you,  an  honest  simple  life.  .  .  .  My 
poor  Nenette,  to  make  them  grunt  in  peace  and  put 
on  friendly  airs,  they'd  have  to  see,  you  and  me,  dying 
of  shame  and  sorrow.  Then  .  .  .  they'd  like  us 
again," 


CHAPTER  VII 

FIVE  years  have  elapsed.  Their  days,  as  numerous 
and  light  as  leaves,  have  fallen  to  the  ground.  Five 
times  already  have  they  bedecked  the  earth  and  gath- 
ered in  the  fruits  of  the  indefatigable  soil.  The  love 
of  Nono  and  Nenette  has  been  gratified.  Little  Laur- 
ette  was  born  about  one  year  after  the  marriage.  She 
has  grown  and  is  now  a  very  graceful  child. 

"She'll  be  five  this  Midsummer,  my  friends!"  said 
Nono,  raising  her  in  his  arms  and  showing  her  proudly. 
"She  is  heavy  and  chatters  already  worse  than  a  Pari- 
sian. Her  tongue  is  somewhat  wild;  but  she  already 
copes  with  me  in  reasoning." 

Happiness  is  never  enduring,  however.  There  is 
a  very  ancient  law,  which  seems  to  be  inspired  from 
on  high,  that  gradually  transforms  the  souls  of  men. 
Within  them,  it  builds  and  destroys  repeatedly  its  frail 
edifices.  Man  yields  to  destiny  his  lowly  heart  in 
which  happiness  and  sorrow  in  turn  mercilessly  hold 
their  sway. 

"Old  man !  .  .  .  "  said  Nono  to  his  father ;  "don't 
you  think  Nenette  has  changed?  For  three  or  four 
years  she  was  as  merry  as  a  lark ;  but  during  this  last 
year  or  two  she  got  to  be  very  queer;  and,  for  that 

48 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  49 

matter,  during  the  past  few  weeks  especially,  she's 
pitifully  sad." 

It  was  early  in  the  morning,  and  Nono  was  getting 
ready  to  go  to  the  vineyard.  He  greased  his  boots 
and  affected  to  appear  and  speak  indifferently.  Old 
Francis  shook  his  head  and  remained  silent  for  a 
moment,  holding  his  pinch  of  snuff  in  the  air  at  the 
end  of  his  thumb.  Then  he  decided  to  talk,  at  the 
same  time  making  many  grimaces  and  shaking  his 
head  slightly  but  with  force. 

"My  boy !  .  .  .  You  ought  to  have  married  a  kind, 
simple  woman  .  .  .  with  a  strong  body  .  .  .  who 
could  wield  her  wash-bat  easily.  .  .  .  But  you  wanted 
sparkling  eyes!  .  .  .  Now  you  have  'em.  .  .  .  And 
yet  all  women  are  a  swarm  of  fleas.  Strange  to  say, 
each  man  wants  one  in  his  house!  .  .  .  Being  mangy 
or  married  is  about  the  same:  it  itches  and  galls  for 
life.  .  .  .  Yours  is  not  the  worst." 

"Old  man!  .  .  .  I'm  not  asking  you  for  any  clap- 
trap speeches.  Don't  pretend  to  be  an  old  simpleton. 
You're  old  and  you've  got  good  sense.  You  love  me 
a  bit.  .  .  .  This  is  perhaps  the  moment  to  do  me  a 
good  turn  .  .  .  for  my  eyes  can  see,  and  my  heart 
suffers.  But  I  sha'n't  say  any  more.  .  .  .  I'm  off  to 
the  vineyard.  .  .  .  ' 

Nenette  appeared  a  moment  later;  and  the  old  man 
seized  the  opportunity  at  once.  As  she  passed  near 
him  with  a  bundle  of  dry  linen,  old  Francis  put  out 
his  arm  and  struck  her  skirt  slightly  with  his  stick. 

"Raa.         .  Raa. 


60  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Oh!  .  .  .  You!  .  .  .  What  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

But  the  old  man,  in  a  merry  and  brisk  tone  of 
voice,  had  his  fling:  "Eh!  .  .  .  little  one!  .  .  .  Will 
your  nasty  little  affair  last  a  long  time  yet?" 

Nenette  turned  round,  and  at  once  understood. 

"What  do  you  mean?  ..." 

"Oh!  .  .  .  you  needn't  put  on  that  grim  face,  and 
thrust  terrible  glances  at  me.  I  say  again:  is  that  go- 
ing to  last  very  long  .  .  .  your  nasty  little  business  of 
a  loose  wench?" 

Nenette  looked  at  the  old  man  with  anger,  quite 
ready  to  cope  with  him.  She  wished  to  reply,  but 
she  lacked  the  assurance  of  the  true  criminal.  She 
flushed.  Her  bare  soul,  trembling  with  shame,  could 
be  seen  through  the  light  tint  of  blood — that  pure 
blush  of  youth.  She  sank  into  a  chair,  and  turned  her 
head  away.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  silence  was  rather  long.  The  young 
woman  sobbed  softly  but  bitterly;  she  murmured 
words  of  despair;  it  all  sounded  like  the  murmuring 
of  a  brook. 

'  .  .  .  Go  on,  my  birdie,  chirp  your  story.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  say?  ...  I  can  hardly  hear  your  mur- 
mur: talk  louder.  .  .  .  You  say  it  ain't  true?  Yes, 
it's  true.  .  .  .  What!  ....  What  do  you  say?  .  .  . 
it's  a  long  time  ago?  ...  an  old  affair?  .  .  .  Oh! 
it  ain't  as  old  as  the  vines  in  these  parts.  .  .  .  Ah! 
Ah!  ...  a  stroke  of  madness,  you  say?  .  .  .  Well, 
when  I  was  a  postman,  more  than  one  bold,  plump 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  51 

wench  came  to  share  a  bit  of  this  madness  with  me. 
.  .  .  None  of  these  fibs,  little  one!  .  .  .  Don't  tire 
yourself  telling  me  that  your  offense  goes  further  back 
than  eighteen  months  .  .  .  that  nothing  happened 
since.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  last  November,  last  December 
.  .  .  and  not  to  involve  the  entire  calendar  .  .  .  let's 
come  down  to  the  Sunday  of  three  weeks  ago  .  .  . 
did  you  go  to  read  the  Lives  of  the  Saints  at  Renar- 
din's?" 

"Eh !  .  .  .  That  stops  your  tears !  .  .  .  Now  you're 
calmed.  .  .  .  And  look  here  a  moment:  I  don't  say 
you  return  to  Renardin  as  tranquilly  as  a  cure  goes 
to  his  Low  Mass.  .  .  .  With  you  it's  High  Mass,  and 
even  bawled  out  loud.  Of  course,  you  make  a  fuss 
at  first;  but  you  soon  get  used  to  it,  don't  you?  And 
then  there's  no  more  fighting.  It's  all  the  man's  fault, 
isn't  it!  Do  you  know  what's  bound  to  come  of  it 
all?  I  wonder!  .  .  .  Well,  I've  put  my  foot  in  your 
household  affairs." 

"Ah !  .  .  .  "  exclaimed  Nenette  who  ceased  crying, 
but  pressed  her  eyes  convulsively  with  her  hands.  "Ah ! 
father  Francis!  .  .  .  what  are  you  saying?  .  .  .  For 
after  all,  I'm  too  unfortunate!  Just  when  I've  given 
up  everything  .  .  .  when  I'm  turning  a  new  leaf.  .  .  . 
You  come  and  attack  me!  ...  Ah!  if  you  knew  all 
.  .  .  you  wouldn't  be  so  harsh.  .  .  .  ' 

"Eh!  ...  Eh!  ...  I  know  all  about  it  already. 
An  old  man  is  a  monster.  ...  He  roams  about,  and 
leans  on  his  stick.  He  walks  on  half  dead,  broken 
up,  using  his  stick  as  a  crutch,  with  his  nose  to  the 


52  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

ground  and  his  neck  hanging  down.  .  .  .  They  say: 
'He's  a  dotard  ...  an  old  beast.  He's  as  deaf  as  a 
post  and  as  stupid  as  a  mule.'  ...  I  laugh  when  I 
hear  that;  and  at  once  I  pretend  to  be  deafer  and 
more  stupid  than  ever,  I  look  at  no  one,  and  I  listen 
to  no  one;  but  I  hear  and  see  everything.  ...  A 
cursed  fellow  ...  an  old  man  ...  eh?  He  roams 
on  staircases,  in  garrets,  in  poultry-houses — he  pokes 
his  nose  everywhere.  .  .  .  He  sees  at  a  little  window 
a  curly  head  that's  hiding.  .  .  .  He  hears  the  boards 
of  a  garret  creak.  .  .  .  He  hears  a  voice  in  the  cellar 
unlike  that  of  the  cooper's  .  .  .  sometimes  slipping 
along  among  the  vines,  quite  bent  with  age  ...  he 
sees  a  young  couple  .  .  .  but  he's  not  a  nuisance,  and 
so  goes  off.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah !  stop,  father  Francis !  .  .  .  Don't  talk  so  much. 
It's  useless,  believe  me!  .  .  .  ' 

"Speak  up,  then!  ..." 

"Ah,  what  should  I  say?  .  .  .  There's  a  curse  on 
me  ...  You  don't  understand.  I  don't  either." 

"Yes,  I  understand.  The  poor  creatures  gone  astray 
ever  return  to  the  one  who  led  them  astray.  They 
always  go  back  to  the  knave  who  made  of  them  what 
they  are.  There's  anger  .  .  .  even  hatred  .  .  .  but 
also  pleasure:  they  go  well  together.  Besides  I  can 
still  understand  that  a  little  wench  should  have  wanted 
to  get  a  smack  of  Renardin  when  he  came  on  furlough 
for  two  months,  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  for  the  grape- 
gathering  season.  You  did  it.  He  was  a  handsome 
fellow,  indeed.  He  was  a  sergeant  in  a  new  uniform 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  53 

.  .  .  irresistible.  But  you've  gone  back  to  him  after 
he  had  left  the  army,  last  September,  and  once  more 
put  on  his  leather  cap:  that's  mean  and  knavish.  He's 
playing  the  blackguard  once  more,  the  amateur  pig- 
merchant,  that  good-for-nothing  wretch.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh,  yes!  I'm  a  guilty  woman,  a  great  criminal. 
But  my  great  offense,  my  real  crime.  ...  I  com- 
mitted a  year  and  a  half  ago,  at  those  fatal  grape- 
gatherings.  .  .  .  All  I  have  done  afterwards  was  an 
attempt  to  defend  myself,  to  go  and  see  ...  try.  .  .  . 
Ah!  ...  At  times  I  wanted  to  kill  him.  I  ran  to 
him  in  a  rage.  .  .  .  And  then!  .  .  .  what  shall  I  tell 
you?  .  .  .  What  power  has  he  over  me?  .  .  .  Ah! 
I  want  to  become  again  a  good  woman,  but  I  can't  any 
more.  I'm  lost,  believe  me !  .  .  .  Oh !  I'm  tired  of  life. 
My  girl  has  kept  me  back ;  but,  faith !  now  it's  all  over. 
I  must  do  away  with  myself.  .  .  .  You  have  just 

given  me  the  last  blow!  .  .  .  How  good   of   you! 
.  »> 

"Come  now!  .  .  .  calm  yourself,  little  one!  .  .  . 
I'm  going  to  settle  matters  up." 

"You !  .  .  .  Ah !  poor  old  man !  .  .  .  What  do  you 
want  to  settle?  .  .  .  The  blackguard  has  my  letters. 
I  wrote  to  him  two  or  three  times  during  his  last  year 
of  service  at  Toul.  He's  threatening  me  with  those 
letters:  'Yes,'  says  he,  Til  read  your  little  notes  to 
your  lanky,  stupid  husband;  and  if  he  doesn't  break 
your  ribs  with  a  pruning-bill  afterwards,  he's  a  cow- 
ard.' Ah!  ...  Tm  going  to  throw  myself  in  the 
well." 


64  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Ah !  .  .  .  One's  hardly  comfortable  at  the  bottom. 
...  Is  that  the  only  remedy  you've  found?" 

"There's  no  other." 

Nenette  was  holding  her  hand  on  her  pale  forehead, 
and  spoke  in  a  low  and  dry  tone  of  voice.  She  con- 
tinued: "Yes!  .  .  .  There's  no  other !  .  .  .  But  that's 
dying  very  young  and  in  despair." 

"Ah !  yes !  .  .  .  There's  no  other  remedy,  you  say  ? 
Well,  go  and  fetch  Renardin.  Tell  him  I  want  to 
buy  the  little  pig  he  showed  me  last  night  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh !  I  won't  bother  any  more  about  anything.  .  .  . 
Go  and  see  whom  you  like.  I  don't  care  about  any- 
thing. .  .  .  Good-bye!  .  .  .  ' 

"Look  here!  .  .  .  Just  wait  a  moment  before  you 
go  to  dream  at  the  bottom  of  the  well.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  .  .  .  I'm  not  interested  enough  in  life  now 
to  do  anything.  I'm  disgusted  with  myself  and  with 

everybody  else.     I'm  a  mad  woman  and  a  criminal. 
» 

"Hey,  there !  .  .  .  Wait  a  minute  and  listen.  .  .  . 
If  you  don't  do  what  I'm  telling  you  to  do  for  the 
sake  of  your  life  ...  do  it  at  least  for  the  sake  of 
the  honest  man  who  has  married  you.  .  .  .  Go,  my 
girl!  ...  Go  and  fetch  the  man  who  is  destroying 
your  life.  .  .  .  Go,  my  girl!  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  way?" 

"This  look  is  for  you  .  .  .  it's  my  tenderness.  .  .  . 
Jeanne!  ..." 

"Don't  say  it.     I'm  a  criminal.     Your  poor  boy 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  55 

had  no  luck.  He's  so  kind-hearted.  .  .  .  Jac- 
quot.  ..." 

"He's  right." 

"He's  so  unhappy  .  .  .  the  dear  boy!  .  .  .  ' 

"Poor  girl!" 

"Why  do  you  say  'poor  girl?'  .  .  .  I'm  weeping, 
father  Francis,  but  it's  not  on  my  account.  .  .  .  He's 
very  unhappy.  .  .  .  Jacquot  .  .  .  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like.  .  .  .  Call  me  'grandfather'." 

"Grandfather!  .  .  .  Do  you  remember  what  you 
once  told  me?" 

"Yes  „  0  .  Don't  cry  so  much,  little  Jeanne.  Your 
little  one  comes  from  school 'at  four  o'clock.  She'll 
say:  'Mamma  has  cried.'  Don't  tell  her  it's  on  my 
account,  for  she'll  scratch  me." 

But  Nenette  did  not  listen  to  him.  She  put  her  face 
in  front  of  his  and  pleaded:  "Do  you  remember, 
grandfather?  ...  Do  you  recall  what  you  told  me 
one  morning?" 

"Now  come!  .  .  .  Jeanne!  .  .  .  Don't  cry." 

"Do  you  recall?  ...  I  didn't  do  anything  worse, 
because  I  couldn't.  .  .  .  ' 

"Calm  yourself,  and  don't  cry.  Go  and  call  the 
fellow.  .  .  .  Little  Jeanne !  .  .  .  " 

"Poor  old  grandfather !  .  .  .  " 

"Go,  little  Jeanne.  ..." 

**....  He's  more  powerful  than  we,  believe  me!" 

"Perhaps;  but  go  and  call  him  anyhow,  I'll  see 
that  justice  is  done  him,  little  Jeanne !  .  .  .  Oh !  .  .  . 
a  poor  kind  of  justice!  .  .  .  the  justice  of  an  old 


66  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

man!  .  .  .  But  it  will  be  justice.     Then  faith!  it'll 
last  as  long  as  possible.     Go  and  call  the  felloto  .  . 
my    little    Jeanne.      Go    in    peace    and    come    back 
to  me.  ,      .  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NENETTE  departed  without  saying  a  word.  A  few 
minutes  later,  she  returned  with  Renardin.  As  is  cus- 
tomary in  these  parts  of  the  country,  she  filled  two 
little  glasses  of  pressed  grape  brandy;  then,  she  sat 
down  quietly  near  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the 
street,  seeming  not  to  hear  anything.  The  thick-set, 
stocky  boor  thrust  himself  comfortably  into  a  chair. 
The  old  man  and  he  clinked  glasses  and  began  to 
talk. 

"What's  new  hereabouts?"  asked  old  Francis. 

"Pooh  .  .  .  nothing  much." 

"Is  there  no  business?    Don't  you  sell  any  wine?" 

"No.  There  are  no  wine  merchants  to  be  seen. 
The  knaves  are  all  buried  somewhere!  .  .  ." 

"It's  like  every  other  year.  .  .  .  They  wait  until 
we  haven't  a  sou,  a  piece  of  bacon,  or  a  log  of  wood 
.  .  .  until  we  stand  before  our  cellars  full  of  wine 
to  be  sold,  with  our  tongues  hanging  out  of  our  mouths 
ready  to  die  of  misery.  .  .  .  Then  they  rise  from 
their  graves ;  and,  after  having  looked  at  our  helpless 
mien,  they  offer  us,  smilingly,  a  miserable  starvation 
price.  And  we  must  say  *yes/  if  we  want  to  regain 
use  of  our  tongues,  eat,  and  not  croak.  .  .  .  But  that's 

57 


58  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

business!  .  .  .  You  too,  a  hog-merchant,  have  these 

tricks,  eh?  ...  And  how  about  your  love  affairs? 
» 

"Oh!"  said  Renardin  evasively. 

"You're  still  after  women?  ...  eh!  ...  mon- 
ster!!" 

"Well,  I  manage  to  get  on." 

"Ah!  .  .  .  Blackguard!  ...  I'd  like  to  see  you 
play  your  pretty  tricks!" 

"Pretty  tricks?  ...  Oh!  ...  that's  not  my  strong 
point.  There  are  some  who  beat  about  the  bush:  they 
kiss  and  mutter  soft,  tender  words.  .  .  .  What  can 
be  done!  .  .  .  Caresses  and  such  other  foolish  non- 
sense !  .  .  .  That's  not  my  way.  As  for  me,  nothing 
softens  their  stubborn  hearts  more  than  some  good 
round  kicks ;  and  I  add  the  finishing  touches  with  my 
fists.  .  .  .  That's  the  way  I  do !  .  .  .  " 

"Ah!  that's  right!  .  .  .  that's  quite  right!  .  .  . 
Ah!  you  monster!  .  .  .  Believe  me,  I  know  some- 
thing about  it,  too!  In  my  day,  I  was  also  a  boy. 
...  A  long  time  ago,  when  I  was  a  postman  in  Le 
Pays-Bas.  ..." 

"Ah!  I  don't  want  to  brag,  but  I  can  tell  you 
I  know  how  to  handle  women.  More  than  a  few 
of  them  have  already  passed  through  my  claws !  Quite 
a  bunch  of  them !  You'll  find  them  among  the  house- 
holds of  La  Cote.  ...  I  visit  that  section  when  I 
care  to." 

"Ah !  you  big  scoundrel !  .  .  .  I  know  it  quite  well ! 
*-»  .  But  you're  my  exact  double !  I've  been  so.  When 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  69 

I  was  a  postman  I  had  them  all:  vine-dressers,  cow- 
girls, woodcutters,  all  the  young  ones,  all.  .  .  .  ' 

"But  what  do  I  care  about  your  cow-girls?  .  .  . 
Why  don't  you  talk  to  me  of  a  dashing  little  dress- 
maker, or  of  a  rustling  bourgeoise,  all  rolled  up  in 
silk  and  laces  like  a  little  fish  in  flour,  all  decked  out 
in  finery,  powdered,  furbished  with  mignonette,  per- 
fumed with  violet  .  .  .  quite  ready  to  be  fried  and 
munched  .  .  .  eh?" 

"Ah!  .  .  .  the  scoundrel !  ...  Ah!  ...  the  black- 
guard !  .  .  .  What  a  devil  he  is !  .  .  .  ' 

And  old  Francis  snorted  and  yawned  as  he  looked 
at  his  interlocutor  with  a  kindly  simplicity. 

"And  then !  .  .  .  old  man !  .  .  .  I've  still  to  find  the 
woman  who'll  cope  with  me.  For  I'm  a  beastly  stub- 
born fellow;  and  I've  always  ended — even  when  it 
seemed  almost  impossible — by  making  them  knuckle 
down  and  yield.  .  .  .  There  are  some  who've  fought 
very  hard!  .  .  .  Well!  .  .  .  I've  had  'em  all,  just 
when  it  pleased  me.  .  .  .  They  began  by  putting  on 
airs  and  making  a  great  fuss,  but  they've  finally  come 
around  to  my  way,  and  fallen  like  wounded 
doves!  ..." 

Renardin  threw  up  his  hands,  stood  erect  and  thrust 
out  his  chest. 

"Ah!  you  confounded  cur!  .  .  .  confounded  cur! 
..."  said  old  Francis,  as  if  he  had  exhausted  all 
his  admiration.  He  remained  with  his  eyes  and  mouth 
wide  open  and  in  so  comical  a  posture  that  Renardin 
burst  out  laughing:  "Ah!  old  scoundrel!  .  .  .  old  fox! 


60  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE 

..."  he  repeated,  slapping  the  old  man's  knees  un- 
ceremoniously. Old  Francis  chuckled  in  his  senile 
manner.  Renardin  winked  sardonically,  and  shook  his 
finger  mockingly  near  the  corner  of  his  eye.  .  .  . 

"There's  a  little  fool  at  present  who  is  rebelling. 
...  If  there's  one  that  belongs  to  me,  it's  surely  that 
one.  Her  husband  is  getting  only  what  I've  left 
over.  .  .  .  ' 

"Is  she  married?" 

"Yes." 

"Overgrown  good-for-nothing!  .  .  .  Blackguard! 
.  .  .  Knave!  .  .  ." 

"Oh!  there  was  spite  in  this  marriage.  She  was 
aiming  at  me  in  this  business.  ...  I  was  too  brutal, 
it  seems,  for  that  graceful  child!  That  dainty  crea- 
ture had  to  have  a  gentle  angel.  She  took  advantage 
of  my  departure  for  the  army,  and  married.  .  .  . 
Otherwise ! .  .  .  Poor  little  chicken ! .  .  .  She  thought 
it  was  enough  to  see  a  mayor  and  a  cure  in  order  to 
escape  me.  .  .  .  But  as  soon  as  I  returned,  I  showed 
her  of  what  stuff  I'm  made.  ...  I  told  the  pretty 
thing  what  I  thought  of  all  that.  ...  I  hinted  to 

her  that  she'd  have  to  take  up  again  an  old  habit. 
»» 

Renardin  suddenly  left  off  his  purring  and  mocking 
tone,  and  began  to  roar  furiously. 

"Ah!  .  .  .  damn  it!  ...  There's  one  woman 
whom  I  told  that  I  loved  her  sincerely.  .  .  .  That's 
the  one!  ...  I  went  at  it  with  all  the  frankness  of 
my  youth.  .  .  .  And  what  was  the  result?  .  .  .  For 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  61 

once  in  my  life  I  was  sincere,  and  the  pretty  creature 
had  to  throw  me  aside  because  she  found  her  bargain: 
a  good-natured  mollycoddle  and  an  excellent  idiot! 
.  .  .  Ah!  hang  it!  hang  it!.  .  .  I  had  no  luck.  I 
had  to  draw  lots  and  be  knocked  on  the  head  with 
five  years'  service  just  then.  .  .  .  She  took  advantage, 
the  creature!  .  .  .  She  patched  up  her  bargain  in  a 
few  weeks.  .  .  .  Well,  let's  forget  it.  ...  But  now 
I'm  home  again.  .  .  .  Here's  the  fellow!  .  .  .  Look 
at  him  well !  .  .  .  Here  he  is  with  a  full  blown  chest ! 
.  .  .  Approach,  my  pretty  child!  .  .  .  He's  ready  to 
attack.  .  .  .  He's  going  to  be  reckoned  with.  .  .  . 

"Ah  yes!  .  .  .  these  past  few  weeks  the  little  one 
has  been  struggling  hard  indeed.  ...  I  scent  a  little 
revolt  ...  a  very  tiny  one.  .  .  .  We'll  see  what  the 
pretty  one  will  gain  by  it!  ... 

"Poor  brat!  .  .  .  She's  as  light  as  a  flea,  and  she'd 
like  to  grapple  with  Renardin !  Poor  chick !  She  comes 
to  make  a  row  in  my  house.  ...  I  let  her  shout  for 
a  while;  and  then,  I  get  hold  of  her.  ...  Oh!  the 
struggle  doesn't  last  long.  .  .  .  Ah !  that  little  one  can 
wriggle  and  writhe!  .  .  .  But  I  have  her  and  hold 
her  finally.  ...  Ah  yes!  she  can  struggle,  call  and 
yell !  She  can  bounce  from  the  ground  to  the  sky 
.  .  .  great  God!  I'll  not  let  go  my  powerful 
hold!  ..." 

Renardin  rose  and  puffed  with  anger.  His  red- 
flannel  girdle  loosened,  and  every  now  and  then  he 
raised  his  trousers  to  his  hips  with  a  frantic  kick. 

"But  do  you  care  much  for  that  woman?" 


62  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"For  her?  .  .  .  I  don't  give  a  hang !  ..." 

"Then  it's  to  spite  her." 

"Yes." 

Renardin  sank  into  his  chair  again.  He  remained 
seated  for  some  time  leaning  over  with  his  elbows  on 
his  knees  and  his  jaw  in  his  palms.  His  furious  eyes 
were  riveted  on  the  ground.  But  his  anger  suddenly 
began  to  choke  him ;  he  breathed  heavily ;  and,  spring- 
ing up  with  fury,  he  threw  his  cap  on  the  table  and 
burst  out: 

"Ah !  .  .  .  the  knavish  little  wench !  .  .  .  I  offered 
to  be  her  husband!  ...  I,  Renardin!  ...  I  who 
have  more  than  ten  thousand  francs  in  the  bank,  and 
more  than  a  hundred  rows  of  vines !...!,  the  pow- 
erful Renardin!  .  .  .  Ah!  you  little  wretch!  You 
didn't  want  to  be  my  wife.  You'll  come  back  to  my 
hovel  anyhow  .  .  .  you'll  come  back.  .  .  .  No,  I'm 
not  a  gallant  fellow  who  can  be  overthrown.  .  .  . 
Hang  it  no !  I've  my  rights !  .  .  .  " 

"Well,  my  poor  fellow,  you  surprise  me.  .  .  .  You 
say  she  didn't  want  to  marry  you?  .  .  .  Could  she 
have  wanted  a  more  handsome  fellow  than  you? 
Don't  get  into  a  passion.  But  that  poor  woman 
is  in  a  very  sad  plight.  It  serves  her  right:  how  could 
she  refuse  a  handsome  fellow  as  gentle  as  you  are! 
A  stupid  child,  believe  me!  ...  But  I'll  bet  you  I 
can  guess  who  that  woman  is !" 

"You  don't  know  her." 

"Ain't  it  Etiennette  Commarin." 

"No." 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  63 

"Is  it  Verrier.    It  can  only  be  that  one." 

"Hell !  .  .  .  Besides,  don't  try  to  guess.  .  .  .  She's 
from  another  region:  otherwise,  I  wouldn't  have  talked 
of  her  as  I  did." 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  at  once?  That's 
all  right:  yet  I'd  like  to  know  who  she  is.  You  know, 
an  old  man  is  cunning!" 

Renardin  rose  and  began  to  laugh.  He  tapped  the 
old  man  on  the  shoulder  mockingly:  "Yes,  you're  one 
of  the  foxy  fellows.  You're  wily  and  shrewd.  .  .  . 
But  what  about  the  pig:  do  you  want  it  or  not?  It's 
sixty  francs  for  someone  else;  for  you  it  is  fifty 
francs." 

But  the  old  man,  still  merry  and  good-natured, 
cleared  his  throat:  "Raa.  .  .  .  Raa.  ..."  He 
stretched  out  his  arm  and  with  his  stick  gave  Renardin 
a  friendly  tap  on  the  leg:  "Scoundrel!  .  .  .  big 
scoundrel.  .  .  .  '  This  he  muttered  in  the  bantering, 
amiable  tone  that  is  used  when  talking  to  animals  and 
children. 

"...  But  you  can  well  say  that  you  gave  me 
much  pleasure.  I  like  to  hear  the  young  folks  talk. 
I've  spent  a  pleasant  afternoon  listening  to  your  stories. 
Nenette  had  already  told  me  the  details  of  the  affair. 
.  .  .  But  you've  treated  it  with  more  spirit,  and  it 
interested  me  much  more." 

"Who?  .  .  .  What?  .  .  ." 

"Nenette,"  said  the  old  man  tranquilly.  "She  told 
me  as  best  she  could  all  about  your  naughty  affair." 

Renardin  sat  down  again,  and  riveted  his  stony 


64  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

little  eyes  upon  the  old  man.  He  searched  silently, 
with  his  base,  gnawing  look,  the  tranquil  face  of  old 
Francis.  The  latter  opened  wide  his  toothless  mouth, 
and  winked  with  his  sharp  little  eyes.  The  boor,  set- 
tled on  what  he  had  to  understand  and  do,  raised  his 
head,  pushed  his  cap  down  over  his  ear,  and  began 
to  whistle  with  indifference. 

"The  little  one  and  I  have  been  talking  for  a  long 
time,  almost  since  half  past  twelve.  She  spoke  for 
more  than  an  hour  without  a  stop.  .  .  .  She  simply 
had  to  give  vent  to  what  was  in  her  heart  for  some 
time.  She  emptied  her  bag  on  me  without  warning. 
I  didn't  say  a  word.  ...  I  listened  to  her.  When 
a  woman  is  off  at  such  a  gallop,  you  might  as  well 
try  to  stop  an  express  train  as  to  stop  her.  .  .  .  Ah! 
I've  learnt  about  your  exploits  .  .  .  nasty  pig!  .  .  . 
And  to  think  that  I've  never  noticed  anything  at  all! 
.  .  .  I'm  cunning,  however.  .  .  .  But  when  one  is  old, 
one's  mind  doesn't  work  in  that  direction.  .  .  . 

"The  little  ones  aren't  so.  A  little  one  is  very  queer. 
She  amuses  herself  with  everything  about  her.  She's 
a  child  after  all.  Then,  one  fine  morning,  when  she 
realizes  there's  danger  beneath  the  rock  where  she 
tried  to  play,  she  wants  to  begin  to  yell  in  everybody's 
presence.  'What  is  she  going  to  do?'  thought  I  as 
I  listened  to  her.  But  when  I  realized  that  she's  go- 
ing to  tell  all,  this  very  night,  to  Nono.  ...  I  calmed 
her  a  bit:  then  I  sent  her  to  fetch  you  in  order  to 
talk  the  matter  over  peacefully.  I  said  to  this  little 
one:  'Ah!  let's  hear  once  for  all  what  Renardin  has 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  65 

to  say,  before  he'll  have  his  jaw  cracked.'  .  .  .  It's 
for  your  sake,  big  monster! 

"Your  story  and  Nenette's  are  about  the  same. 
Moreover,  you  have  the  same  idea!  .  .  .  You,  also, 
want  to  use  the  boots  of  my  big  Jacques  as  a  confes- 
sional! .  .  .  Funny  idea!  .  .  . 

"The  little  one  says  its  your  baseness  that  eggs  you 
on.  I  think  it's  rather  one  of  the  turns  of  remorse, 
and  it  comes  from  your  noble  soul,  for  you've  a  very 
noble  soul,  decked  out  with  benevolence,  and  stuffed 
with  kindness,  sweet  repentance,  and  all  sorts  of  chari- 
table things.  There's,  to  be  sure,  a  little  baseness  at 
the  very  bottom;  but  there  must  be  some  crust  be- 
neath the  tart,  and  bone  beneath  the  meat.  .  .  .  ' 

"Old  demon!  .  .  .  What  the  devil  are  you  bother- 
ing me  for?  Is  that  all  you  wanted  to  tell  me?  ... 
I'm  off.  ...  " 

"But,  my  boy,  I'm  not  going  to  hold  you  back.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  you've  some  important  work  on  hand.  .  .  . 
Off  with  you  quickly!  My  big  Nono  will  call  on  you^ 
to-night,  to  conclude  the  conversation  you  haven't  the 
time  to  bring  to  an  end  now." 

Renardin  began  to  puff  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Then,  he  put  on  an  indifferent  air  and  feigned  to  be 
absorbed  in  the  cracks  of  the  wall.  But  it  was  the 
sheerest  semblance,  for  the  chubby  nose  of  the  boor 
began  to  sniff  noisily. 

Old  Francis  was  quite  calm  now  and  took  his  time; 
he  still  continued  to  clear  his  throat  gayly  and  then 
helped  himself  to  a  pinch  of  snuff. 


66  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Off  with  you  ...  if  you're  in  a  hurry!  ...  Go 
ahead !  .  .  .  You  have  some  letters  from  the  little  one 
that  you  wanted  to  hand  over  to  Nono.  .  .  .  You 
needn't  bother,  my  boy!  .  .  .  He'll  go  and  fetch  'em 
a  little  later,  as  soon  as  he  returns  from  the  vines." 

"I  don't  give  a  hang  about  those  letters.  Here  they 
are,  take  'em !  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  you  had  'em  with  you!  ..."  and  the  old 
man  put  out  his  hand  and  took  the  package — "ah !  ah ! 
.  .  .  that's  how  they  are,  the  lovers!  .  .  .  They  al- 
ways have  with  'em  their  darling's  letters.  They  waste 
their  time  rereading  'em,  kissing  'em,  and  caressing 
'em.  .  .  .  Renardin,  you  can  well  say  you're  a  fond 
lover !  .  .  .  But  you'll  get  over  it.  You'll  also  become 
an  old  hoof  like  me." 

Changing  his  tone,  the  old  man  said :  "Jeanne !  .  .  . 
Throw  that  into  the  fire !" 

The  young  woman  came  forward  and  looked  at 
the  two  men  as  if  she  had  not  seen  them  before, 
staring  at  them  with  hard  and  sunken  eyes.  Finally, 
she  seemed  to  understand. 

"Father!  .  .  .  Keep  these  letters  and  read  them. 
.  .  .  They're  short ;  I  simply  ask  him  to  let  me  alone. 
.  .  .  Read  them  so  that  you  won't  think  me  more 
guilty  than  I  am." 

"Little  one,  strike  a  match  and  throw  that  into  the 
flames — and  do  it  quickly  so  that  they'll  be  no 
more!  ..." 

He  spoke  in  an  unusual  tone  that  sounded  very 
strange.  Nenette  obeyed.  After  a  moment  of  silence, 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  67 

a  crackling  was  heard  in  the  fireplace ;  then  the  flame 
sprang  forth  with  a  start,  grew  bigger  and  gradually 
died  away.  .  .  . 

Nenette  walked  over  to  old  Francis;  they  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence,  and  on  the  young  face,  big 
silent  tears  began  to  roll  down.  The  old  man  had, 
as  usual,  his  hands  crossed  on  his  short  stick,  but  a 
grave  tenderness  adorned  his  features.  He  looked  like 
one  of  those  ancients  of  bygone  days  who  was  at  the 
same  time  father,  judge  and  patriarch,  who  would  sit 
on  his  curule  chair  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  ivory 
staff,  hard  by  his  little  domestic  altar,  his  eyes  on  the 
holy  embers  of  the  hearth,  the  severe  guardian  of  its 
flame  and  honor! 

"Do  you  see  this  little  Jeanne,  Renardin !  Repentant 
tears  are  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  For  three  weeks 
this  dew  has  been  falling  to  the  pitiless  ground.  .  .  . 
It's  enough.  Let's  stop  it!  ...  This  Jeanne  is  the 
delight  and  support  of  my  old  age.  Yes,  I  love  her 
dearly!  I  told  her  so  once.  .  .  .  She  hardly  believed 
me.  .  .  .  But  we're  friends  now." 

Renardin  played  the  part  of  the  indifferent  person 
who  does  not  listen.  He  pretended  to  look  at  the 
course  of  the  clouds  in  the  sky.  In  order  to  see  them 
better,  he  bent  his  dark  head  spotted  with  black  hair. 

"What!  it's  raining?  .  .  .  Hang  it!  We're  going 
to  have  more  pools  of  rain  from  the  mountain!" 

"Never  mind  the  clouds!  .  .  .  my  boy!  .  .  .  Let's 
end  our  business.  .  .  .  Well,  what  about  the  pig?  You 


68  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

said  forty  francs.  That's  very  high.  But  what's  the 
use  of  haggling?  All  right,  the  bargain  is  struck." 

"Forty  francs!  .  .  .  You're  jollying  me!  .  .  . 
Why,  it's  worth  twelve  sous  a  pound." 

"Yes,  forty  francs.  Ah !  that's  what  you  said.  Be- 
sides, that  doesn't  matter.  .  .  .  It's  very  generous  of 
you  to  want  to  confess  to  Nono.  .  .  .  It's  a  noble  idea 
to  cleanse  one's  soul.  .  .  .  But  I  laugh  at  it.  ...  I'd 
like  to  see  you  carry  it  out.  .  .  .  My  Nono  would 
open  his  mouth  wide,  and  gape  at  you.  But  hardly 
anything  surprises  him.  .  .  .  He'd  act  like  a  true- 
born  judge.  .  .  .  I've  a  notion  he'll  make  your  bald 
pate  sink  into  your  knavish  neck  .  .  .  one  of  those 
blows  of  absolution  that  sends  you  direct  to  paradise. 
.  .  .  Ah!  I  know  him.  He's  the  worst  brute  here- 
abouts. That  big  good-for-nothing  never  warns  any- 
body. The  left  fist  cries:  'Kill!'  the  right  one  an- 
swers: Tell!'  You'll  have  hardly  begun  to  explain 
your  business  than  the  big  fellow  would  already  be 
at  you.  He  wouldn't  listen  very  long.  .  .  .  All  he'll 
know  is  that  he  must  destroy  a  pair  of  shins  and  break 
a  handsome  jaw.  .  .  .  We'll  hardly  have  the  time  to 
hear  the  cries  and  run  in  ...  when  everything  will 
be  over!  the  big  one  .  .  .  gaping  .  .  .  flurried  .  .  . 
very  much  annoyed  because  he  has  nothing  more  to 
do.  ...  Beside  him  .  .  .  you!  ...  as  much  of  you 
as  will  be  left,  limbs  broken,  carcass  a  mass  of  ruins, 
jaw  dashed  to  pieces  .  .  .  and  in  that  whole  mass  of 
ruins  there'll  be  no  more  life  than  in  a  boiled  chicken. 
.  .  .  Well  then,  you  silly  fool !  .  .  .  But  let's  stick  to 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  69 

the  point.  If  I  should  undertake  to  talk  to  my 
Jacques.  .  .  .  Ah !  I'm  not  very  clear,  and  yet  you  seem 
to  understand  very  well.  .  .  .  Let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing worth  while.  .  .  .  Jean  Antoine  Renardin's  skin 
is  hanging  in  the  balance;  therefore,  hurry  and  take 
it  home,  and  leave  it  there  under  cover  .  .  .  and  make 
sure  never  to  let  it  rub  against  Nenette.  .  .  .  Just  one 
wicked  word  let  loose  and  your  skin  will  be  in  strips. 
It  would  be  a  great  pity,  for  it's  a  rare  skin — well 
weathered  and  browned !  .  .  .  And  what  will  the  poor 
wenches  do  who'll  have  no  one  to  catch  their  kisses? 
.  .  .  For  they  like  to  throw  'em  into  the  dung-heap. 
.  .  .  They've  a  base  taste!  .  .  . 

"By  the  way,  my  Renardin !  .  .  .  You  say  the  girls 
are  very  fond  of  you;  but  here's  one  who  falls  at  my 
feet,  confesses  all,  and  would  throw  herself  into  the 
well  rather  than  return  to  you  one  more  time!  .  .  . 
You  disgust  her !  .  .  .  And  I  imagine  she's  not  harder 
to  suit  than  the  others.  If  I  were  you,  I'd  look  into 
the  matter  and  visit  those  households  of  La  Cote  where 
your  chicks  are  scattered.  My  friend!  .  .  .  also 
change  your  methods.  The  true-born  cock  doesn't 
bray:  he  sings  very  clearly.  I've  heard  you  once,  and 
I  thought:  'Hang  it!  ...  how  the  fashions  change! 
.  .  .  Where's  his  delicacy?  .  .  .  This  looks  more  like 
a  battle  with  a  pack  of  wolves!  .  .  .  ' 

"But  your  taste  is  just  as  bad  if  you're  going  to 
keep  that  little  pig:  it  would  be  a  good  bargain  for 
both  of  us.  Let's  not  make  a  knavish  price.  We're 
friends.  Forty  francs  is  a  good  price.  But  I'm  not 


70  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

bargaining.  Go  and  fetch  that  pig.  Now  be  careful ! 
.  .  .  The  life  you're  leading.  ...  Ah!  I  hear  my 
Nono  has  come  home.  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  entered  with  a  grim  look. 

"What's  all  this  noise  about?  What's  that  beast 
doing  in  my  house?  .  .  .  ' 

"He  came  to  sell  us  a  young  pig.  .  .  .  And  I 
bought  it." 

"For  how  much?" 

"Forty  francs." 

"If  the  pig  is  very  young,  it's  almost  twice  the 
amount  it's  worth." 

"No.     It's  a  good-sized  one." 

"Ah!  .  .  .  then  it's  all  right." 

While  they  were  talking,  Renardin  had  muttered  a 
"So-long!"  and  quickly  disappeared. 

Nenette  was  crying,  her  chest  flat  on  the  table  and 
her  head  in  her  hands.  The  old  man,  with  a  wink, 
silently  called  his  son's  attention  to  her. 

Nono  sat  down  near  his  wife  and  took  her  in  his 
lap. 

"Ah !"  said  old  Francis,  "there  are  beings  who  have 
the  souls  of  angels,  but  whose  flesh  is  vile.  Poor  little 
ones.  .  .  .  My  boy,  if  you  see  something  is  out  of 
gear  don't  begin  to  kick  and  pout.  A  mere  trifle  may 
have  upset  many  things.  You  must  very  gently  speak 
your  mind,  and  they'll  be  set  right.  .  .  .  But  I'm 
thirsty  .  .  .  Jacques!  ..." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  two  following  years  were  for  Nono  and 
Nenette  two  years  of  happiness.  They  had,  however, 
their  share  of  anxiety.  Indeed  all  the  winegrowers  in 
La  Cote  were  in  despair:  phylloxera  began  to  devastate 
the  vines;  and  the  barren  spots  not  only  grew  more 
numerous  every  day,  but  they  threatened  to  spread 
everywhere.  Old  Francis  prophesied  the  direst  mis- 
fortunes: "I  always  said  so:  I  knew  it  would  happen. 
In  four  or  five  years  we  sha'n't  reap  grapes  enough 
for  wine  even  to  say  mass  with.  ...  I  merely  want 
to  warn  the  young  folks,  for  I'll  be  busy  elsewhere. 
.  .  .  The  jackals  are  already  barking  at  me." 

In  that  alone  was  the  old  man's  prophecy  true.  His 
years  had  already  passed.  He  began  to  cough  in  the 
very  first  month  of  the  winter  of  1884.  He  was  never 
to  see  again  the  trees  covered  with  leaves  and  the 
earth  in  full  bloom.  He  was  really  not  sick.  Nono 
only  became  anxious  when  the  old  man  refused  to 
drink  his  glass  of  grape  brandy,  and  declared  that  he 
no  longer  liked  wine.  Nono  and  Nenette  then  begged 
him  in  vain  to  abandon  his  truckle-bed  in  the  garret, 
and  sleep  in  a  good  bed  on  the  floor  below.  He  insisted 
on  climbing  to  the  garret. 

One  night,  Nenette  heard  him  cough.    At  daybreak 


72  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

she  brought  him  a  bowl  of  hot  milk.  Sitting  on  the 
bed,  she  raised  the  old  man's  head  with  one  hand,  and 
with  the  other  she  put  the  bowl  to  his  lips.  But  the 
old  man,  instead  of  drinking,  turned  his  head  away. 
Nenette  had  but  time  to  place  the  bowl  on  the  floor 
and  bring  her  hand  back,  when  the  old  man  gently 
let  his  cheek  fall  into  it.  On  these  little  trembling 
fingers  old  Francis  breathed  his  last. 

On  coming  home  from  the  funeral,  Nono  and  "his 
wife  sat  down,  facing  each  other,  with  heavy  hearts. 
They  remained  thus  for  a  long  time,  lacking  the  cour- 
age to  change  their  mourning  clothes,  which  made 
them  appear  strange  to  each  other.  Nono,  who  re- 
sented this  uneasiness,  made  an  effort  to  speak: 

"My  Jeanne!  .  .  .  They're  laughing  at  us.  They 
think  we're  mourning  entirely  too  much  for  an  old 
man  of  eighty-seven  years.  .  .  .  We  might  as  well 
continue  with  our  work.  .  .  .  But  I  say  we've  had  a 
great  loss.  ...  In  a  home,  there  are  no  better 
guardians  than  these  old  men:  they  have  an  eye  on 
the  door,  and  misfortune  dares  not  enter.  Their  old, 
withered  hands  mete  out  peace  and  friendship  in  a 
home.  .  .  .  The  old  man  was  very  much  loved.  We 
must  love  the  aged,  for  they've  been  upon  earth  before 
us.  Besides,  we're  told:  'Honor  thy  father  and 
mother.'  " 

"Yes,  Jacques!  .  .  .  that  old  man  loved  us  very 
much!  .  .  .  the  dear  old  man  saved  us!  .  .  .  ' 

"That's  right;  there  was  something  indeed  between 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL1  73 

you  and  him",  but  I  wasn't  aware  of  it.  But  now  we're 
alone  in  this  great  world!  We've  lost  our  old  friend. 
.  .  .  We  must  come  closer  to  each  other,  my  Jeanne, 
so  that  we  can  cope  with  life." 

The  sad  evening  peacefully  came  to  an  end.  Then 
the  days  began  to  set  slowly  once  more. 

Nono,  absorbed  by  his  hard  work  at  the  vines,  felt 
less  keenly  his  loss;  but  his  silent  little  companion 
continued  to  grow  sadder  and  sadder.  Her  sorrows 
were  manifold:  her  heart  bled  for  the  lost  affection 
of  the  old  man,  and  death  seemed  to  have  left  some- 
thing of  its  stupor  in  that  frail  and  nervous  soul.  Poor 
Nenette  was  terrified  by  darkness,  slumber  and  dreams. 
In  all  that  there  was  also  mingled  a  vague  anguish 
of  mind,  a  fear  of  the  future,  a  presentiment.  A  mis- 
fortune seemed  impending.  Old  Francis  had  spoken 
of  it.  Formerly  his  sprightly  eye  had  destroyed  these 
spells.  But  he  was  no  longer  with  her.  Nenette's 
poor  tormented  soul  could  hardly  now  recall  this  be- 
loved image.  Was  the  spirit  that  watched  in  the  dark- 
ness the  kind  soul  of  the  shrewd  old  man,  or  that  of 
the  grim  old  corpse  that  Nenette  had  seen  stretched 
out  on  the  funereal  bed  like  a  dreadful  stranger? 

The  gloomy  shades  of  melancholy  gradually  en- 
wrapt  the  young  woman.  She  awoke  with  terrible 
nightmares:  then,  sitting  up  in  bed,  she  listened  with 
anger  to  the  peaceful  breathing  of  Nono,  while  the 
cold  gusts  of  the  northwest  wind  filled  the  house  with 
voices  of  despair. 


74  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Nono  was  alarmed  to  see  that  steady  gaze,  that  pale, 
terrified  face.  Several  months  elapsed.  .  .  .  There 
was  no  change  for  the  better.  Was  it  madness? 
melancholia  ?  ...  or  some  unknown  curse  ?  .  .  . 

And  upon  the  young  couple,  along  the  road  they 
anxiously  followed,  there  descended,  little  by  little,  all 
the  inevitable  woes  of  their  destiny.  .  .  .  Their  sor- 
rows came  in  turn,  at  their  hour,  just  as  old  Francis 
had  foreseen  in  the  past.  .  .  .  He  had  had  a  glimpse 
of  them,  hidden  yonder  as  in  invisible  ambush,  in  the 
distant  shadow  of  days  and  years. 

Nenette  had,  without  justification,  some  terrible  fits 
of  ill-temper.  Nono  tried  in  vain  to  calm  her.  He 
even  sent  for  the  doctor — a  stocky  fellow,  square  like 
a  bull,  with  a  pink  bald  head,  a  heavy  drinker  and  a 
fiendish  manilla  player.  He  treated  his  patients  in  a 
rough  and  ready  way,  without  any  attempt  at  delicacy, 
and  without  tormenting  his  mind  to  learn  the  new  dis- 
coveries. He  prescribed,  with  an  easy-going  authority, 
to  his  patients — chiefly  drunkards  and  peasants — 
blisters,  laxatives,  cupping-glasses,  and  leeches;  this 
mingled  with  gross  remarks  gave  him  a  popular  reputa- 
tion of  frankness. 

"Your  wife  is  cracked,"  said  he  to  Nono  as  he 
entered  his  carriage.  "At  Chartreux  and  at  Dijon 
there  are  some  who  aren't  as  mad  as  she  taking  the 
cure.  If  she  had  half  a  dozen  brats  to  clean,  she 
wouldn't  think  of  standing  on  her  head  to  see  whether 
the  sky  was  flatter  than  the  earth." 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  75 

Then  he  added,  taking  the  reins  in  his  hands :  "I'd 
treat  that  with  a  good  hard  kick:  it's  only  a  ques- 
tion of  forcing  down  and  then  out,  without  ceremony, 
the  bilious  matter  of  the  stomach."  Thereupon  he 
cracked  his  whip  and  departed. 

Nono,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  was  quite 
nonplused  by  the  doctor's  advice.  Then  he  grew  angry. 
"Confounded  crank !  .  .  .  Old  jackal!  .  .  .  Miserable 
leech  huckster!  .  .  .  ' 

But  Nenette  continued  to  be  ailing.  In  the  spring 
of  1885,  the  doctor  came  again  and  advised  that  she 
be  diverted. 

"Divert  her!"  said  Nono,  "that's  easy  to  say!  .  .  . 
But  what  can  I  do?  .  .  .  The  fairs  seldom  take  place. 
We  can't  have  feasts  every  day.  .  .  .  '  Then  he 
added:  "Darling!  .  .  .  Do  you  want  to  go  to  Dijon 
with  the  donkey?  .  .  .  You'll  see  the  shops.  .  .  . 
There's  a  basketmaker  in  the  Rue  du  Bong.  .  .  .  I've 
perhaps  seen  there  the  finest  work  the  hand  of  man 
can  make." 

But  Nenette  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  consented 
to  go,  however,  to  the  village  festivals  where  she 
danced  at  the  balls.  And  then  a  wonderful  idea  oc- 
curred to  some  of  her  neighbors.  ...  To  have 
Nenette  serve  at  weddings !  .  .  .  She's  comely,  handy 
and  clever!  She'll  be  really  useful.  Besides,  she  sings 
like  a  darling ;  her  songs  and  her  high  spirits  .  .  .  why 
that'll  be  the  gayety  of  the  wedding !  .  .  .  Especially 
now  that  we  can  no  longer  count  on  the  men:  they're 
drunk  even  before  the  cure  has  blessed  anything!" 


76  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

The  advice  was  good,  and,  therefore,  it  was  heeded. 
Nenette  soon  became  the  indispensable  little  queen  of 
all  festivities.  To  every  wedding  and  every  parish 
feast  Nenette  brought  her  roguish  gayety,  her  lively 
songs,  her  round  ardent  face,  and  her  passionate  eyes. 

Then  she  seemed  to  have  come  back  to  life.  Her 
dark,  soft  eyes  grew  still  larger.  Her  face,  once  thin 
and  with  somewhat  angular  features,  gradually  became 
round  and  beaming.  Beneath  her  sensitive  nostrils, 
her  charming  lips  were  like  blooming  red  roses. 

Nono,  however,  did  not  share  in  this  rejuvenes- 
cence. This  new  vitality,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  to 
have  been  drawn  in  part  from  Nono's  own  life.  Two 
deep  furrows  fretted  his  hollow  cheeks.  In  his  gloomy 
eyes,  there  was  a  cold,  nervous  gaze.  Still  steady,  and 
with  his  neck  craning,  he  walked  in  silence  from  vine 
to  vine.  His  long  inexpressive  face  looked  like  a  rough 
carving  in  wood. 

This  sadness  had  come  over  Nono  since  Nenette  had 
returned  one  night  from  a  wedding  in  Le  Pays-Bas, 
and  threw  herself  on  his  breast,  weeping  like  a  terrified 
child.  All  night  she  had  wept  in  his  arms.  .  .  .  They 
had  agreed  that  Nenette  should  never  serve  at  wed- 
dings. .  .  .  She  returned  to  her  former  amusement, 
however. 

So  great  was  her  haste  to  leave  for  the  festivals 
that  she  even  forgot  her  foremost  duties.  To  all  in- 
tents, Nenette  had  abandoned  her  home,  never  looking 
after  anything.  When  Nono  returned  from  the  vine- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  77 

yard,  he  was  obliged,  in  spite  of  his  fatigue,  to  hunt 
for  a  candle,  the  sugar,  the  flour,  wash  the  dishes 
and  at  times  even  make  the  beds.  And  little  Laurette, 
sitting  on  a  stool,  watched  him  cook,  with  an  instinc- 
tive uneasiness,  his  extraordinary  combinations.  .  .  . 
"Poor  little  one !  ...  All  that  will  hardly  be  good,  but 
I  didn't  even  find  an  onion.  ...  Is  there  any  butter 
in  the  cupboard?  Go  and  see.  .  .  Ah!  'tis  a  miser- 
able life,  my  poor  child !  .  .  .  ' 

When  Nenette  came  home,  he  still  had  the  heart 
to  kiss  that  ungrateful  forehead.  "Little  friend,"  said 
he.  But  he  could  not  add  another  word,  and,  with  a 
gesture  of  complete  distress,  he  covered  his  eyes  with 
his  hands. 

Some  of  his  good  friends  did  not  fail  to  jeer  at 
him:  "Well,  'tis  about  time!  .  .  .  Nenette  has  turned 
out  to  be  a  jolly  woman!  .  .  .  She's  getting  plump. 
She's  filling  up  like  a  little  rabbit.  Besides  she's  all 
fire  and  flame.  You're  lucky  to  have  a  pretty  wife. 
Now  one  can  see  she's  got  the  work  she  likes." 

"Yes,  that  is  right,"  answered  Nono  in  a  quiet  tone. 
"Let  her  be  well.  I'm  glad  to  see  her  happy,  healthy 
and  respectable." 

"Oh,  as  to  that!  .  .  .  my  Nono!  .  .  .  you  said  it. 
...  As  to  being  respectable,  that  woman  is  the  gem 
of  the  land!  .  .  .  She  deserves  the  pink  top- 
knot! ..." 

And  Nono  feigned  not  to  see  the  evil  faces  of  those 
friends,  not  to  perceive  the  ferocious  joy  that  made 
their  chubby  noses  sniff,  and  their  stony  eyes  twinkle. 


78  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

He  did  not  see  the  big  fellows  wink  to  one  another 
and  rub  their  faces  with  their  heavy  hands  to  hide  their 
hideous  smiles. 

But  once  alone,  in  the  vineyard  or  in  the  fields, 
Nono  changed  his  expression.  He  worked  like  a  mad- 
man. He  gave  himself  entirely  to  his  strength  and 
his  courage.  He  threw  himself  into  his  work  as  into 
a  sea  of  oblivion.  Standing  flat  on  his  feet,  his  fore- 
head close  to  the  vines,  he  would  dig  with  a  regular 
and  desperate  eagerness.  He  swung  his  pickax  with 
rage,  and  tore  up  huge  lumps  of  moistened  earth  which 
he  threw  between  his  legs. 

...  In  those  sad  days,  Nono  found  his  real  peace 
of  mind  in  the  Marais  fields.  There  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  vast  plain,  with  green  fields,  narrow  paths  and 
invigorating  silence.  In  the  east,  there  was  a  long 
stretch  of  pensive  and  ruddy  woods.  The  nearest 
village  is  Saint-Philibert  with  its  gray  walls,  thatched 
roofs  and  bare  trees.  It  was  the  village  of  his  grand- 
father, and  the  native  place  of  his  poor  family.  Nono 
found  again,  in  these  fields,  where  the  elders  of  his 
race  had  toiled,  the  courage  which  is  that  of  the  eternal 
man.  His  humble  and  gentle  soul  of  a  man  resigned 
to  his  fate  rose  in  peace  towards  his  supreme  dreams. 
His  eyes  wandered  toward  the  distance:  his  gaze  would 
lose  itself  beyond  the  woods,  far  off  where  all  blends 
into  one. 

.  .  .  Yonder,  towards  the  east,  in  a  fog  of  colorless 
mist,  in  a  vague  mingling  of  sky  and  air,  the  human 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  79 

paths  terminate  as  in  a  dream.  On  the  blue  hills,  their 
traces  hardly  visible  and  stippled  with  trees,  rise  and 
then  disappear  like  beings  set  free  who  at  last  find 
peace. 


CHAPTER  X 

BUT  Nono's  sorrow  was  bitter  indeed.  One  after- 
noon in  March,  he  was  busy  digging  in  his  garden, 
getting  it  ready  to  plant  some  vegetables.  Nenette 
and  he  had  just  had  a  heated  dispute.  The  young 
woman  had  been  asked  to  serve  at  a  wedding  of  two 
hundred  guests.  Nenette  was  at  first  elated.  But 
Nono  stamped  his  foot  and  exclaimed:  "No!  this  time 
it's  impossible.  Renardin  will  be  at  this  wedding  in 
Epernay.  Have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

Nenette  grew  angry  and  decided  to  have  her  own 
way.  There  were  no  good  reasons  to  stop  her  from 
going  where  she  was  asked:  "Besides,  I  want  to  go 
there  .  .  .  that's  all !  ..." 

Nono  replied  indifferently:  "Well  then,  go  where 
you  like." 

This  calm  answer  exasperated  Nenette,  and  she  burst 
out  in  a  rage:  "All  right!  ...  All  right!  ...  I 
won't  go.  But  don't  put  on  that  stupid  helpless  look, 
for  it  just  makes  my  skin  creep!  .  .  .  Yes!  .  .  . 
Look  at  me!  .  .  .  What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?  What  can  you  see  with  your  bleared  eyes?" 

Nono  had  let  her  shout,  and  walked  out.  Having 
reached  his  field,  he  had  at  first  wanted  to  work;  but 
he  soon  thrust  his  spade  aside,  and  sat  down  in  the 

80 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  81 

furrow  muttering  to  himself:  "Ah!  great  God!  .  .  . 
This  time  I  think  I'm  done  for.  .  .  .  I've  borne  meekly 
a  heavy  load  of  sorrow  and  shame.  But  I'm  about 
to  sink  beneath  the  yoke!  ...  I  feel  a  terrible  mad- 
ness coming  over  me.  .  .  .  And  it's  coming  at  a  gal- 
lop, too.  .  .  .  ' 

He  reflected  a  long  time,  holding  his  head  in  his 
hands.  And  suddenly  he  cried  out:  "But  there's 
something  still  worse!  .  .  .  She  doesn't  even  love  her 
little  one !  .  .  .  Oh !  it's  certain !  .  .  .  She  doesn't  love 
her!  A  week  sometimes  passes  without  her  paying 
more  attention  to  the  child  than  to  the  merest  trifle 
at  home.  ...  I  must  look  after  her.  I  must  put  her 
little  stockings  on.  ...  I  must  see  that  her  wretched 
little  dress  is  mended.  .  .  .  And  during  that  time,  she 
— the  other  one — sings!  .  .  .  And  then  suddenly — 
without  any  warning — she  paws  over  the  little  darling 
like  a  hungry  beast.  You'd  think  she  was  going  to 
smother  the  child  with  kisses.  ...  Oh!  she'll  make 
the  child  mad,  too !  .  .  . 

"...  Ah!  hang  this  life!  .  .  .  No!  I  can't  work! 
...  I  must  go  home.  This  is  the  first  time  that  I 
must  give  up  a  task!  .  .  .  It's  cowardly!  .  .  .  But  I 
can't  help  it.  Besides,  hang  it !  ...  as  Nenette  says." 

The  clock  struck  four  when  Nono  entered  his  house. 
As  he  walked  up  the  stairs,  he  heard  a  sudden  move- 
ment of  chairs  .  .  above  ...  in  his  room.  When 
he  reached  his  door,  he  stopped  short — petrified  with 
stupor.  Nenette  was  standing  with  her  eyes  cast  down. 
She  was  ironing  some  shirts.  But  in  front  of  her 


82  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Renar'din  was  leaning  on  the  table,  covering  his  face 
with  his  large  hairy  hands. 

"Get  out  of  here — you!  ..."  said  Nono  quietly. 

Renardin  left  without  saying  a  word.  Nono  sat 
down  and  watched  Nenette  move  the  iron  to  and  fro 
on  the  breast  of  a  shirt. 

"Look  here,  you!  ..."  said  he.  "I  never  want 
to  see  that  man  in  my  house  again!" 

Nenette  raised  her  head  and  flushed. 

"But  he  didn't  do  any  harm." 

"I  didn't  do  him  any  either." 

"Hasn't  that  man  a  right  to  watch  me  work?" 

"Yes,  if  you  worked  as  hard  as  you  do  now,  it 
must  have  been  interesting  to  watch  you.  In  the  mean- 
time, don't  tear  that  shirt  by  rubbing  it  with  an  iron 
that's  as  hot  as  hoar-frost!  .  .  .  ' 

And  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  anger,  Nono  rose, 
wrested  the  iron  from  his  wife's  hand  and  threw  it 
into  the  ashes  of  the  fireplace. 

"Oh !  .  .  .  "  said  he,  calmed  all  of  a  sudden,  "it's 
not  surprising:  before  you  can  make  your  irons  hot 
you  must  at  least  have  some  fire !  .  .  .  And  it  has  been 
out  for  some  time!  .  .  .  There  was  some  other  work 
on  hand !" 

And  without  bothering  about  Nenette,  Nono  went 
to  the  woodstack  and  took  some  fagots.  He  then  be- 
gan to  break  them  and  arrange  them  in  the  fireplace. 

Nenette  watched  him.  She  was  so  terrified  that 
her  mind  was  a  perfect  blank  for  a  time. 

What  was  he  going  to  do?  ...  Wasn't  he  going 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  33 

to  kill  her?  .  .  .  She  deserved  it.  Besides,  all  was 
done  for.  Love  and  happiness  had  just  been  dashed 
to  pieces  in  a  few  seconds.  Nothing  but  ruin  was  be- 
fore her.  .  .  . 

But  suddenly  a  rancorous  rage  arose  in  her  against 
that  big,  gross,  ungraceful  peasant,  who  was  gnawing, 
without  violence  at  her  delicate  heart,  who  humiliated 
her  because  of  some  trivial  evidence.  Ah!  if  he  had 
only  insulted  and  beaten  her !  .  .  .  But  no !  he  was 
standing  there  stupidly,  with  his  clumsy  knee  in  the 
air  breaking  the  fagots.  He  hung  his  long,  veined 
neck  down  like  a  big  horse;  he  did  not  deign  to  look 
at  her,  insult  her  or  cry;  he  just  let  her  remain  there 
like  some  inanimate  object.  She  was  in  turn  humil- 
iated, in  despair,  and  exasperated ;  and  all  that  ...  in 
silence !  ...  in  vain !  .  .  . 

She  then  felt  a  shudder  of  contempt  and  hatred  pass 
through  her  body:  it  made  her  blood  run  cold.  And, 
in  spite  of  herself,  almost  unconsciously  she  muttered: 
"Blockhead!" 

Nono  heard  it,  but  he  did  not  turn  round.  He 
finished  rilling  the  fireplace  with  wood ;  then  he  looked 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket  for  a  match.  He  raised  his 
leg  and  struck  the  match  with  a  straight  powerful 
blow  along  his  entire  thigh  against  his  velvet  trousers. 
From  his  habit  of  lighting  matches  in  the  open  air,  he 
quickly  enclosed  the  flame  in  the  hollow  of  his  hands. 
When  the  fagots  began  to  blaze,  he  sat  down  on  a 
chair  with  his  head  drooping  on  his  chest. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  silence,  during  which 


84  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

there  Was  no  other  noise  but  the  crackling  of  the  fire, 
Nenette  approached  and  said  in  a  low  voice  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  Nono:  "If  I  didn't  have  my 
child,  I'd  hang  myself." 

Nono  raised  his  small  gray  eyes:  "Oh!  don't  let 
that  stop  you.  I  don't  want  to  brag;  but,  with  an 
honest  father  like  me,  she  can  always  do  without  such 
a  mother  as  you.  .  .  .  She  even  deserves  something 
better;  go  right  ahead  then.  There's  plenty  of  rope 
in  the  garret,  and  in  the  woods  you'll  find  some  very 
strong  branches.  There's  the  staircase;  creep  right 
up,  and  go  and  hang  yourself  to  your  heart's  content." 

When  little  Laurette  returned  from  school,  she 
found  her  father  sitting  in  front  of  the  fire,  his  legs 
crossed  beneath  his  chair  and  his  long  back  bent  like 
an  arch.  She  walked  up  to  him  to  kiss  him;  but  she 
stopped  and  contemplated,  with  an  astonished  look, 
that  drooping,  soulless  face  with  its  distended,  gaping 
mouth  and  blank,  fixed  gaze.  She  then  looked  at  her 
mother,  sitting  near  the  window  and  sewing  in  silence. 
Her  mother  nodded  to  her  amicably  as  she  wet  the 
thread  before  threading  the  needle.  The  little  girl 
walked  over  to  her  mother  on  tip-toe:  "He's  drunk?" 

"Yes.    Don't  make  any  noise." 

Laurette  sat  down  on  a  stool  near  her  mother.  The 
mother  and  daughter  spoke  in  a  whisper.  They  seemed 
to  watch  a  dead  person.  The  clock  continued  its 
monotonous  ticking. 

Nenette  tried  to  shake  her  thoughts  off  by  speaking. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  85 

Her  voice  sounded  like  a  deadened  murmur ;  but  never 
had  she  been  so  motherly  in  her  gayety.  She  put  many 
questions  to  her  daughter,  spoke  to  her  of  her  tasks 
at  school  and  of  her  little  friends.  The  talk  was  very 
friendly  and  the  child  was  delighted.  In  fact,  it  was 
the  mother  who,  having  become  quite  young  again  to 
please  her  child,  spoke  of  the  most  trifling  things  with 
a  happy,  childish  charm.  But  it  was  also  an  involun- 
tary effort  to  tear  herself  away  from  the  torments  of 
the  present  hour;  it  was  a  way  of  returning  to  the 
distant  past,  of  fleeing  from  woeful  age  to  reach  once 
more  the  serene  purity  of  childhood. 

And  gradually  indeed,  amid  these  distant  shadows 
of  time  and  conscience,  faint  glimmers  loomed  up ;  the 
devastated  space  was  soon  full  of  memories  and 
prayers.  And  soon  it  was  no  longer  possible  for  the 
poor  soul  to  escape  from  these  visions:  her  entire 
past  seemed  to  be  reaching  towards  shattered  dreams 
and  disappointed  love.  All  the  past  days  of  all  the 
bygone  springs  had  come  in  vain  to  cast  their  flowers 
upon  the  ruined  soul;  that  which  came  back  and 
shrieked  in  its  torment  was  the  entire  life  of  the 
young  girl — of  the  child !  .  .  .  She  had  been  a  charm- 
ing housewife  and  a  courageous  little  woodcutter.  She 
had  loved  with  all  her  soul.  Beneath  the  wretched 
flesh,  the  heart  had  perhaps  remained  murmuring  and 
pure  like  a  spring  which  is  only  for  a  time  befouled. 
..."  It  is  this  murmur  that  she  hears  now;  it  is  to 
this  faint  voice  of  bygone  days  that  she  is  listening. 
And  now  she  hears  once  more  the  humming  of  the 


86  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

bees  and  the  call  of  the  titlings  in  the  hawthorne 
bushes,  when  they  kissed.  .  .  .  "O  my  dear  friend! 
.  .  .  O  my  darling!  .  .  .  ' 

Little  Laurette  looked  at  the  tears  that  rolled  down 
her  mother's  face.  Nenette  tried  to  hold  them  back, 
and  her  features  were  distorted  by  the  violent  effort. 
Her  mouth,  with  the  lips  closed  tight,  had  convulsive 
fits.  The  poor  face  then  was  fretted  with  sudden 
wrinkles,  and  the  tears  filled  the  shriveled  features 
as  if  they  had  come  from  everywhere.  The  little  girl 
was  sitting  on  her  mother's  lap,  and  also  cried.  The 
mother  pressed  the  child  close  to  her  bosom,  rocking 
her  violently  as  if  she  were  going  to  lose  her.  And 
in  this  exasperated  rocking  could  be  seen  the  sorrow 
of  a  supreme  moment. 

The  little  one  said  suddenly:  "Let  me  go,  mamma! 
...  I  want  to  go  to  bed." 

"You  didn't  have  any  supper!" 

'Tm  not  hungry.  Let  me  go.  Remain  with  papa." 
Laurette  looked  at  her  mother  as  if  to  say:  "I  under- 
stand. You  must  remain  alone." 

When  her  daughter  was  in  bed  Nenette  lit  the  lamp 
and  sat  down  near  the  table  to  sew.  Her  husband 
was  still  sitting  in  the  same  place.  She  was  waiting 
for  him  to  get  up.  She  waited  a  long  time.  Finally 
Nono  rose  from  his  chair.  "Hm!  .  .  .  Hm!  .  .  .  ' 
he  muttered  as  if  he  had  come  from  a  dream.  He 
passed  by  his  wife,  turning  his  head  away.  In  vain 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  87 

did  Nenette  raise  towards  him  her  eyes  where  her 
soul  lay  prostrate  in  the  dust. 

Nono  went  into  his  room.  Nenette  heard  him  drop 
his  boots  and  go  to  bed.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
snored. 

When  alone,  the  young  woman,  in  despair,  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands.  She  was  in  such  agony  that  she 
could  hardly  breathe.  She  thought  that  the  terrible 
weight  that  lay  on  her  breast  was  to  remain  there 
forever.  And  a  chill  came  over  her,  like  a  cold  night 
that  follows  a  warm  day. 

She  was  sitting  and  thinking  for  a  long  time.  Hours 
had  perhaps  elapsed.  Then  she  stood  up,  raised  her 
hair  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  She  breathed  as  after  a 
fall  from  a  great  height.  It  was  over  now.  Prostrated 
at  the  feet  of  her  faithful  companion,  she  was  going 
to  confess  everything.  She  would  open  to  him  the 
depth  of  her  soul ;  she  would  reveal  without  any  pity 
all  her  sins;  she  would  make  her  supreme  confession 
as  when  in  the  pangs  of  death;  she  would  be  like  the 
poor  soul  that  rises  from  the  ground  never  to  fall 
again;  she  would  be  before  her  husband  as  before 
death. 

And  afterwards  whether  he  would  forgive  or  not, 
she  would  have  expiated  her  sins.  There  would  be 
no  more  coquettish  toilettes,  no  more  bonnets  trimmed 
with  knots,  and  no  more  dresses  trimmed  with 
flounces.  She  would  have  become  again  a  vine- 
dresser with  hobnail  shoes  and  a  striped  hood.  She 
would  destroy  her  flesh  with  the  hard  work  of  the 


88  NONO    LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

fields.  She  would  toil  until  her  soul  should  have  found 
again  a  kind  of  fierce  health. 

Nenette  entered  the  room  where  Nono  was  sleeping. 
She  walked  over  to  the  b.ed  with  the  lamp  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  she  covered  the  flame  so 
that  the  light  should  not  wake  her  husband.  .  .  .  She 
watched  him  sleep.  .  .  . 

The  tall  winegrower  was  exhausted  with  fatigue. 
He  was  sleeping  with  his  mouth  open;  his  lips  drawn 
back  and  his  gums  exposed,  gave  him  a  horrible  grin. 
The  eyes  seemed  to  have  been  closed  with  violence 
as  if  after  the  detonation  of  an  explosion.  And  on 
these  two  lids,  under  which  slept  the  former  gaze  of 
tenderness  and  love,  there  were  numerous  wrinkles 
crossing  one  another  like  the  cartruts  in  a  muddy 
hollow. 

Nenette  was  terrified  at  the  sight  of  this  grimacing 
slumber.  She  recalled  the  man  with  his  straight  face 
when  he  stood  close  to  her  little  body.  She  remembered 
that  long  face  so  thoughtful  and  honest  which  she 
had  tried  to  reach  on  tip-toe,  her  heart  in  a  flutter 
and  her  soul  uplifted. 

This  is  what  had  become  of  her  noble  husband. 
Oh !  how  much  he  had  suffered  to  have  changed  thus ! 
.  .  .  During  ten  full  years  he  had  worked  like  a  mad- 
man. ...  It  was  for  her.  For  her  his  arms  had 
toiled.  But  perhaps  also  for  her,  because  of  her 
frivolity,  did  the  wrinkles  of  care  fret  his  face.  These 
scattered  memories  thronged  in  her  mind.  She  re- 
called his  equivocal  remarks,  that  air  of  wishing  to 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  89 

ignore  all,  and  that  gesture  of  great  sorrow,  when, 
after  having  caressed  her,  he  passed  his  hand  across 
his  care-worn  forehead.  .  .  .  Ah !  each  of  her  sins  had 
left  there  a  trace  or  a  wrinkle.  .  .  .  Each  of  her 
criminal  pleasures  had  withered  a  little  more  that  be- 
loved face!  .  .  . 

Nono,  disturbed  by  the  light,  turned  on  one  side, 
Nenette  went  to  place  the  lamp  on  the  table  and  came 
back.  She  knelt  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She 
stretched  her  arms  out  towards  the  sleeping  face,  and 
in  a  whisper  she  murmured  her  prayer.  She  prayed 
to  be  taken  back  again,  to  be  forgiven  with  kisses,  to 
be  clasped  and  loved  once  more !  .  .  .  She  murmured 
a  long  time.  But  her  lips  gradually  tired,  and  her 
eyes  soon  closed.  .  .  . 

In  the  morning  when  the  dim  light  of  the  refresh- 
ing dawn  penetrated  the  mist,  Nenette  was  still  lying, 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed  in  a  half  slumber  in  which  the 
world  of  dreams  and  reality  was  mingled.  ...  It 
seemed  to  her  that  her  prayer  was  heard:  Nono  sat 
up  and  held  out  over  her  a  hand  of  forgiveness.  She 
lowered  her  head  beneath  that  blessed  gesture.  But 
what  a  heavy  hand,  however!  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  started  up,  for  Nono  rose  and  had 
just  roughly  thrown  the  linen  over  her.  His  abrupt 
movement  had  cruelly  brought  to  an  end  and  trans- 
formed her  happy  fleeting  dream. 

When  Nono  was  on  his  feet  he  was  a  sad  spectacle. 
He  scratched  his  arms,  craned  his  neck  and  muttered: 


90  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Hm!  .  .  .  Hm!  .  .  .  '  The  ludicrous  lappets  of  his 
shirt  dangled  over  his  crooked  knees  and  thin  hairy 
legs. 

Nenette  contemplated  with  terror  this  long  face,  be- 
wildered, dull  and  cold. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?  .  .  .  Stop  your  look- 
ing at  me  in  that  way!  .  .  .  ' 

Nenette  rose  slowly,  dried  her  tears  with  the  back 
of  her  hand  and  burst  out  laughing.  And  yet  she 
was  still  crying!  .  .  .  Her  sobbing  and  laughter  at 
first  mingled  nervously.  The  struggle  was  coming  to 
its  close,  and  the  trembling,  little  woman  rubbed  her 
eyes  with  the  rage  of  despair. 

"Will  you  stop  cutting  up  like  that?  .  .  .  I've  just 
about  enough  of  these  hysterical  farces !  .  .  .  I  know 
what's  behind  'em  all !  .  .  .  Cut  those  grimaces  out  or 
I'll  kick  you  down  the  stairs !  .  .  .  " 

Nenette's  little  eyes  at  once  became  fiery  and  in- 
solent; she  smiled  bitterly  at  her  husband.  Then  she 
began  to  hum,  and  affected  to  get  busy  with  her  house- 
work. She  went  to  fetch  the  wood  from  the  garret, 
the  water  from  the  well  and  the  wine  from  the  cellar. 
.  .  .  She  did  not  stop  singing  as  she  worked.  Her 
exasperated  joy  filled  with  laughing  murmurs  the  stair- 
case, the  garret  and  the  entire  house. 

As  for  Nono,  he  dressed  and  had  his  breakfast.  He 
took  from  the  cupboard  the  bread  and  a  bowl  of  strong 
cheese.  Seated  at  the  table  with  a  pig-headed  and 
brutish  air,  he  chewed  in  silence.  With  the  point  of 
the  knife  he  pushed  huge  pieces  of  bread  into  his 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  91 

mouth ;  then  he  placed  his  fist  at  the  edge  of  the  table, 
the  blade  of  the  knife  pointing  straight  up  in  the  air. 
In  the  meantime  Nenette  grew  calm.  But  the  storm 
soon  burst  out  anew. 

"Are  you  really  going  ...  to  that  wedding? 
..."  said  Nono  as  he  was  getting  ready  to  go  to 
the  vines. 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  answered  Nenette  in  a  soft 
voice. 

"You  better  decide  then,  so  that  I  can  know  whether 
I  must  come  back  at  eleven  o'clock  to  give  the  little 
one  something  to  eat !  .  .  .  ' 

Nenette  reflected.  Then,  with  a  timorous  tender- 
ness she  said:  "Oh!  I  want  to  stay  home." 

"All  right.  Stay  home  then,"  grumbled  Nono 
roughly. 

The  young  woman  looked  at  her  husband.  She  had 
never  seen  him  thus.  She  could  hardly  recognize  that 
wornout  brutal  face,  and  that  sharp,  violent  look. 
Despair  seized  upon  her  soul:  she  trembled  with  rage 
to  see  her  repentance  and  tenderness  shattered  by  his 
stubbornness. 

"Oh!  ...  Oh!  ...  What  a  fool  I  am.  ...  Of 
course,  you  must  really  be  stupid  to  try  to  make  up 
with  such  a  beast.  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  going  to  that  wed- 
ding! .  .  .  And  I'm  not  leaving  two  hours  later,  but 
at  once  ...  at  this  very  moment!  .  .  .  ' 

"Well  then !  .  .  .  clear  out  at  once !  .  .  .  " 

Nenette  had  already  taken  off  her  apron  and  thrown 
it  in  the  corner.  Without  saying  a  word,  she  went 


92  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

to  the  wardrobe  and  threw  the  light  door  open  with 
a  bang;  then  she  ran  to  the  chest  of  drawers,  pulled 
them  out  with  violence  and  began  to  throw  the  clothes 
on  the  chairs  in  a  huddle  as  in  the  distraction  of  a 
fire.  .  .  . 

Nono  stood  and  watched  her  silently.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  descended  to  feed  the  rab- 
bits. When  he  returned,  he  found  Nenette  dressed 
looking  at  herself  in  the  mirror.  She  was  arranging 
with  her  fingertips  the  dainty  curls  on  her  forehead. 
She  turned  her  head  in  all  directions  in  order  to  get 
the  proper  light.  She  fluttered  like  a  swallow  before 
taking  wing.  A  large,  greenish  net  cravat  gave  her 
the  appearance  of  a  graceful  little  boy. 

"Yes!  .  .  .  You  can  look!  .  .  .  '  said  Nono. 
"That's  great!  ..." 

"What's  great?" 

"With  these  ball  clothes  you're  going  to  help  in  the 
kitchen,  besides  the  six  kilometers  you  must  walk  in 
the  mud !  .  .  .  You  damn  madwoman !  .  .  .  And  yet, 
after  all  I  don't  give  a  hang !  .  .  .  " 

"And  I  give  a  rap,  eh?" 

Nenette's  voice  trembled  with  anger:  "How  stupid 
of  me  to  let  him  yell  at  me  in  that  way!  .  .  .  I'm 
an  angel  to  be  so  obliging.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  ...  an     angel?  .  .  .  perhaps     when     you 

dream!  .  .  .  but   otherwise   you're   a   dirty   wretch! 
» 

Nenette  could  no  longer  control  her  anger,  and  her 
insults  soon  calmed  Nono.  He  was,  like  all  peasants, 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  93 

deliberately  gross  in  his  language ;  but  the  habitual  tone 
in  which  he  spoke  effaced  the  real  meaning  of  his 
words.  Nenette' s  insults  were  different  both  in  tone 
and  choice ;  and  Nono  saw  those  lips  which  he  had  so 
often  kissed  sink  in  mud  forever. 

"...  But  go  ahead  quick!  .  .  .  My  poor  child! 
.  .  .  "  said  he  in  an  almost  doleful  tone. 

And  this  very  tone  exasperated  the  unhappy  Nenette 
and  made  her  furious.  She  would  have  wanted  blows, 
a  violent  anger,  an  uproar,  action,  something  in  fine 
which  would  have  dispelled  this  nightmare,  dissipated 
the  stupor  of  the  air,  driven  away  the  spell  which  was 
about  to  link  her  destiny.  ...  Or  else,  let  everything 
come  to  an  end !  ...  let  everything  totter  down  with 
the  house!  .  .  .  bury  the  beings!  .  .  .  annihilate  life 
and  the  pangs  we  suffer !  .  .  . 

"Yes,  I'm  going,"  she  yelled,  "but  never  to  return 
again.  .  .  .  I've  enough  of  it  ...  enough  of  your 
wooden  face,  your  shabby  hovel  and  your  greased 
boots !  .  .  .  Enough  of  you,  blockhead !  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm 
clearing  out  .  .  .  forever !  .  .  .  ' 

"...  Well,"  said  Nono  calmly,  "while  you're  at 
it,  you  can  set  the  house  on  fire,  and  throw  the  little 
one  into  the  well!  .  .  .  ' 

Nenette  no  longer  listened;  she  ran  like  a  mad- 
woman. She  was  looking  for  her  hat  .  .  .  for  the 
pins  with  which  to  hold  it.  She  had  one  between  her 
teeth;  the  other  she  furiously  thrust  in  her  hair.  As 
she  ran  on,  she  grabbed  her  gloves  here,  a  handker- 
chief there,  and  a  little  farther  her  purse.  Then  she 


94  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

dashed  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  threw  it  back  to 
the  wall,  and  rushed  down  the  stairs.  .  .  . 

Nono  had  hardly  had  the  time  to  look  about.  He 
remained  there,  and  gaped  before  the  open  door.  But 
he  heard  a  noise  behind  him.  He  turned  round,  and 
saw  his  little  Laurette  in  her  shirt. 

"What's  the  matter,  papa?" 

Then,  in  a  sudden  flash  of  tenderness  and  under- 
standing, Nono  perceived  the  enormity  of  what  had 
just  happened:  "Why,  your  mamma  is  leaving!  .  .  . 
my  child!  ..." 

Little  Laurette  ran  to  the  staircase  and  cried: 
"Mamma!  .  .  .  Mamma!  ..." 

"Go  out  on  the  balcony  rather,  if  you  want  to  call 
her,"  said  Nono  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

The  little  one  ran  out  on  the  balcony  and  bent  over: 
"Mamma!  .  .  .  Little  mother!  ..." 

"Cry  louder,  little  one!  .  .  .  She  forgot  some- 
thing! ..." 

"Little  mother!  .  .  .  Little  mother!  ..." 

But  the  wind  blew  in  the  opposite  direction  and  car- 
ried these  feeble  cries  away  with  it. 

"Papa !  .  .  .  Why  did  mamma  go  away  so  quickly  ? 
She  doesn't  hear  me." 

Nono  hurried  in  turn  to  the  balcony.  He  was  about 
to  utter,  with  all  his  might,  down  the  road,  in  the 
hostile  wind,  his  supreme  cry.  .  .  .  But  he  stopped 
short:  about  thirty  paces  away  there  was  Renardin 
standing  near  the  gate  of  the  house!  The  big  fellow 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  95 

exulted  in  his  triumph.    Nono  saw  him  rub  his  hands 
joyfully.    Nono  was  silent. 

He  and  his  daughter  saw  Nenette  walking  on  with- 
out turning  back;  then  she  almost  began  to  run  and 
quickly  turned  at  the  corner  of  the  Cafe  Caillot.  .  .  . 
She  disappeared  there. 

The  father  and  the  little  girl  entered  the  room. 
Nono  closed  the  glass  door  of  the  balcony,  and  sat 
down  despondently.  The  frightened  child  looked  at 
him. 

"Papa !  .  .  .  Why  did  memma  go  away  so  quickly  ? 
.  .  .  She  didn't  even  kiss  me!  ...  Is  she  late?  .  .  . 
Tell  me!  ..." 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"Is  she  going  to  Epernay?" 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"But  she'll  come  back  after  to-morrow?  ...  eh? 
.  .  .  papa!  .  .  .  ' 

"Of  course,  my  child." 

The  little  girl  was  silent  a  moment.  She  looked 
at  her  father  and  thought.  She  bent  down  to  scratch 
her  knee,  and  she  raised  her  shirt  above  her  little  naked 
legs,  charming  and  round  as  if  they  were  made  of 
ivory. 

"Papa!  .  .  .  It's  already  raining  a  little,  and 
mamma  hasn't  taken  an  umbrella!  .  .  .  Why  not? 
It's  too  bad !  she's  gone  very  far." 

"Yes,  my  little  Laurette." 


96  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Papa!  .  .  .  last    night    mamma    suffered    very 
much!  ..." 
"Yes,  my  child." 

"It  was  your  fault,  eh?  ...  Did  you  get  drunk? 
»> 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"You  won't  make  her  cry  any  more,  will  you,  my 
dear  papa?  .  .  .  ' 

"No,  my  little  darling!" 

"You'll  be  good  to  mamma!  .  .  .  She's  so  kind! 
» 

"Yes,  my  child.     But  go  to  bed  now,  because  you'll 
catch  cold.        .  leave  me  alone  for  a  while.  ,      .  " 


PART  II 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  news  was  spreading  everywhere.  Early  in  the 
morning,  the  poor  bandy-legged  newsman  had  shouted 
at  every  door  the  event,  and  blew  at  the  same  time 
his  cracked  horn  till  his  lungs  almost  burst.  The 
winegrowers  questioned  one  another  about  the  news 
as  they  were  walking,  with  their  baskets  on  their  backs, 
to  the  vineyards.  The  village  was  filled  with  the 
murmur  of  contented  voices.  It  buzzed  like  a  bee- 
hive. And  from  a  distance,  perhaps  this  very  quiver- 
ing of  human  happiness  resembled  the  imperceptible 
creaking  of  an  ant-hill,  which  works  and  constructs 
fearlessly  beneath  your  feet,  which  animates  with  its 
generous  toil  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  land. 

Nono  passed  by  again  and  again  in  the  midst  of 
this  gayety.  He  would  walk  off  with  long  strides 
raising  his  feet  as  if  he  were  clambering  up  a  moun- 
tain. He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  crossroad  of 
Les  Baraques ;  and  there  he  stood  agape  with  his  head 
stretched  out,  his  arms  dangling  at  his  side,  eagerly 
gazing  with  his  dull  eyes  on  the  distant  roads.  But 
he  could  only  see,  beneath  the  trees  afar  off,  the  long 

97 


98  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

carts  of  Le  Pays-Bas,  and  the  yellow  cart-tilts  of  the 
stage  coaches. 

The  inhabitants  of  Les  Baraques  were  all  in  the 
street.  Every  eye  watched  closely  the  poor  face  of 
the  unhappy  Nono.  Flon-Flon,  more  puffed  up  than 
ever,  cheerful  and  red  like  a  ripe  spreading  vine,  ap- 
proached with  a  sly  good-natured  look: 

"Hey!  .  .  .  Nono!  .  .  .  Are  you  waiting  for  any- 
body?" 

"Yes,"  said  Nono  who  was  not  in  the  humor  of 
saying  much. 

"Whom  are  you  waiting  for?" 

"My  wife." 

"Your  wife?  .  .  .  Ah!  Hm!  She  isn't  come  back 
yet  from  the  wedding.  .  .  .  Ah !  .  .  .  Perhaps  there's 
some  mean  trick  in  back  of  this  .  .  .  Women,  when 
the  deuce  takes  them  at  their  worse  .  .  .  ' 

"Look  here,"  interrupted  Nono. 

But  a  little  later,  a  certain  Lardoisier,  called  Calfat, 
with  the  abrupt  boldness  of  a  sly,  thick-set  poacher, 
succeeded  where  others  would  have  failed: 

"Well,  you  big  noodle!  .  .  .  What  the  deuce  are 
you  doing  here?  .  .  .  Jollying  the  world,  eh?  .  .  . 
Are  you  looking  for  someone  to  have  a  drink  with? 
.  .  .  Well,  I'm  ready.  .  .  .  Firmin  Fausset  is  going  to 
give  you  some  fresh  news  that'll  interest  you." 

"Ah! ..." 

"Yes." 

"All  right!  ..." 

"Come  on,  let's  go  in !" 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  99 

The  two  men  entered  the  cafe.  The  other  wine- 
growers gradually  came  to  join  them,  and  grouped 
themselves  amicably  around  them.  At  first  they  spoke 
seriously  so  as  not  to  anger  Nono.  They  also  drank 
likewise.  Then  their  talk  became  more  lively,  and 
little  by  little  they  managed  to  slip  in  a  few  jokes. 
When  it  grew  dark,  they  laughed  heartily  in  the  Cafe 
Caillot. 

.  .  .  There  he  was,  the  lanky  Nono  with  his  tor- 
mented, gloomy  face,  quite  contentedly  drunk!  .  .  . 
He  laid  bare  before  a  jeering  crowd  the  gentle  mockery 
of  his  unhappy  love.  .  .  .  Briquet,  in  very  high  spirits 
led  the  party: 

"But  see  here!  .  .  .  My  poor  Nono!  .  .  .  Only 
you  saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on!  ...  That 
woman  was  the  wench  of  the  village!  .  .  .  We 
couldn't  give  you  a  hint,  because  you  gave  us  up  and 
looked  down  on  us.  ...  But,  poor  old  chap  .  .  .  that 
affair  was  going  on  a  long  time !  .  .  .  Why,  Renardin, 
as  far  back.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  see  here,  anyhow.  ...  I  didn't  watch  her 
very  closely,"  said  Nono  placidly  shaking  his  absinth. 
"I  never  thought  her  a  harlot !  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah !  .  .  .  Well,  you  should  'ave  seen  her  last  night 
in  Dijon,  you'd  'ave  been  sure  at  once." 

"In  Dijon?" 

"Yes.  The  ^wedding-party  went  there  in  a  jaunting- 
coacfi.  The  old  folks  wanted  to  go  to  the  theater: 
but  the  young  ones  went  for  a  good  time  to  the 


100  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Brasseries-Kennies.  .  .  .  Hey !  Firmin !  .  .  .  Tell  the 
details  of  the  business!" 

Firmin  was  a  stout,  pale  and  peaceful  fellow  who 
spoke  lazily: 

"Ah!  ...  I  saw  yesterday  what  I've  never  seen. 
Since  I'm  a  musician  and  since  I  have  tromboned  at 
weddings  in  Le  Pays-Bas,  I've  seen  many  women 
drunk,  but  never  one  as  much  as  yours.  .  .  .  Jac- 
quelinet!  .  .  . 

"Ah!  Renardin  took  good  care  of  her!  She  was 
in  good  hands !  .  .  .  When  I  saw  her  come  in,  holding 
on  to  Renardin's  and  Martin-Boiteux's  arms.  .  .  .  By- 
Jove,  some  jag !  .  .  .  And  pretty,  too !  .  .  .  and  what 
a  luscious,  little  pink  snout!  .  .  .  And  besides,  where 
necessary,  she  was  plump  and  dimpled  to  make  your 
mouth  water.  .  .  She  was  glad  to  be  hugged.  .  .  . 
And  you  ought  to  hear  her  shout!  ...  It  wasn't  a 
sermon  she  was  handing  us  out.  .  .  .  And  you  ought 
to  see  her  slip  down  glasses  of  champagne !  .  .  .  Ah ! 
that  fixed  her  right !  ...  At  last,  she  began  to  slobber 
in  her  glass  and  to  bawl  merrily,  while  the  fellows 
were  pulling  her  about  hither  and  thither.  She  made 
a  hellish  racket.  .  .  .  She  could  hardly  be  quieted. 
She  stamped  like  a  mad  creature!  .  .  .  When  I  left 
she  whined  like  a  cat,  for  the  fellows  were  rough 
with  her.  .  .  .  I'll  tell  you  only  that  much.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Nono  calmly,  "I  was  never 
aware  of  it.  I  never  thought  her  as  bad  as  that." 

"But,  after  all,  my  poor  fellow!"  said  Flon-Flon, 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  101 

"you  knew  the  kind  of  creature  she  was,  why  did 
you  tie  yourself  up  for  life  with  that  slut?  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  .  .  .  What  shall  I  tell  you?  .  .  .  Do  I  know? 
.  .  .  you're  always  fooled  with  any  woman.  You're 
often  fooled  when  you  buy  a  cow:  but  if  you're  wise 
you  can  get  out  of  it.  But  with  a  woman!  .  .  .  This 
is  one  whom  I've  seen  grow  up,  so  to  speak,  between 
my  boots.  .  .  .  Well,  look  at  her!  .  .  .  You  see  a 
little  face  that  smiles  at  you.  .  .  .  You  think  you're 
seeing  the  tenderness  of  the  whole  world.  .  .  .  You 
go  at  her  with  your  soul  and  life.  .  .  .  And  then! 
.  .  .  The  best  is  like  the  worst:  she  isn't  worth  a 
damn!  .  .  .  They  say: 'I've  a  little  angel  in  my  house.' 
Yes,  an  angel !  .  .  .  The  worst  sow  ain't  the  one  that 
rolls  about  in  the  pigsty.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you  something.  You  get  rid  of 
her  now  for  good." 

"That's  sure.    I'm  rid  of  her." 

"But  look  here,  Nono!  .  .  .  Let  me  warn  you  of 
another  thing.  .  .  .  You  have  a  creeping  thing  in  your 
house  who  is  quite  a  tomboy.  .  .  .  She's  ten,  and  she's 
cursed  already!  .  .  .  Take  care,  nothing  good  will 
come  of  her." 

While  speaking,  Flon-Flon  raised  his  ringer  to  stress 
his  warning.  And  Nono,  sitting  sideways  on  his  chair, 
one  elbow  leaning  on  the  back,  scratched  his  head  as 
if  to  unravel  the  possible  truth  of  the  remark.  He 
shook  his  long  anxious  face  and  said:  "Why!  that 
may  be  very  possible !  There'd  be  nothing  queer  about 
that." 


102  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Ah!  do  you  doubt  it?  Why,  my  poor  fellow,  you 
have  only  to  look  into  that  little  one's  eyes  to  be  con- 
vinced. .  .  .  Why,  she'll  be  worse  than  the  other  one ! 
Look  here,  does  that  little  creature  resemble  you?  .  .  . 
Say  yes,  if  you  dare  to  make  a  jackass  of  your- 
self! ..." 

"Indeed,  hardly.    But  I'm  going  to  look  after  her." 

"You'll  be  right.  .  .  .  Keep  an  eye  on  her,  old  chap. 
Don't  make  of  her  what  you  made  of  the  other  .  .  . 
by  treating  her  daintily.  Ah!  If  instead  of  having 
kept  your  mouth  shut,  you  had  raised  your  paw.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah !  you're  dead  right !  .  .  .  I  was  too  stupid  and 
too  good.  I  realize  it.  I  can't  do  more.  I  see  it  now. 
But  you  want  to  look  out,  too !  .  .  .  All  women  must 
have  a  cudgel.  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  train  this  one! 
Leave  it  to  me !  .  .  .  They  don't  know  me  here.  They 
laugh  at  me.  Well,  they'll  see  that  I'm  perhaps  one 
of  the  most  terrible!  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  make  her  act 
uprightly,  that  little  flea!  .  .  .  I'll  straighten  her 
bones!  She'll  see  whether  the  fist  at  the  end  of  my 
sleeve  is  made  of  lamb's  wool !  I  can  see  it  now.  .  .  . 
She'll  be  vicious,  eh  ?  Well,  you  daughter  of  a  harlot ! 
.  .  .  you'll  get  a  taste  of  my  boot!  And  then,  the 
other  one  .  .  .  her  mother.  .  .  .  I'll  revenge  myself. 
Tell  it  to  your  wives.  'He  swore  in  the  cafe  before 
all  of  us.  Beware!  .  .  .  Surely,  sooner  or  later  .  .  . 
in  ten  years  ...  in  twenty  years  .  .  .  but  it's  sure 
and  certain;  some  day  a  murder  will  be  committed, 
and  the  daughter  of  old  Clemence  will  be  the  victim! 
.  .  .  '  Now  that's  what  I'm  telling  you,  and  I  won't 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  103 

say  it  again.  .  .  .  But  you're  not  drinking.  .  .  . 
Tienette!  .  .  .  Let's  have  our  rounds!  .  .  .  What'll 
you  have,  you  there?  .  .  .  Have  what  I'm  having: 
go  on,  a  good  absinth!  .  .  .  There's  nothing  that 
makes  the  blood  run  so  well!  .  .  .  Let  me  have  one 
more.  .  .  .  Tienette!  .  .  .  ' 

A  great  many  winegrowers  were  there,  sitting  in 
silence,  in  the  thick  smoke  of  the  cafe.  With  their 
elbows  on  the  table,  they  smoked  their  short  pipes 
like  old  sailors.  They  relished  Nono's  speeches  with 
blithe  and  contented  faces. 

"But  what's  going  to  become  of  me!  ...  I  was 
too  happy!  I  wouldn't  have  given  my  hovel  for  the 
warmest  place  in  paradise.  Well,  in  a  few  days,  every- 
thing has  gone  to  the  dogs.  Last  Tuesday,  at  this 
very  moment  I  was  sitting  in  my  house  and  having 
my  supper,  with  the  charming  little  pink  creature,  there 
in  front  of  me,  she  who  was  the  companion  of  my 
days  and  the  darling  of  my  nights!  .  .  .  What 
pleasure  have  I  got  now;  here  I  am  bottled  up  with 
the  worst  drunkards  of  the  village !  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  Nono!  you're  a  fine  fellow!"  said  all  the 
winegrowers  in  a  chorus.  "That's  right,  go  right  on! 
...  Be  agreeable!  .  .  .  ' 

"But  don't  get  angry !  .  .  .  I'm  just  joking.  You're 
my  friends.  I  like  you  all.  And  that's  quite  true; 
I  neglected  you  too  much;  I  thought  you  were  too 
rotten.  .  .  .  That's  wrong!  .  .  .  You  must  forgive 
me.  .  .  .  You're  my  friends,  my  true  friends,  the  fin- 


104  NONO:  LOVE  AND.  THE  SOIL 

est  chums  of  the  village!  .  .  .  Flon-Flon!  .  .  .  my 
chums!  ...  I  insulted  you  one  day.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah !  poor  old  chap !  you  remember !  .  .  .  I  forgive 
you.  Besides,  I  knew  it  wasn't  your  fault." 

The  two  friends  shook  hands;  Nono,  who  could 
hardly  hold  his  long  face  steady,  rocked  his  head  to 
and  fro  with  emotion. 

"My  good  old  fellow." 

"My  poor  old  chap." 

"And  you,  my  old  Briquet!  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!   Nono!  .  .  .  Old  chum!  ..." 

"And  you,  Fumeron!  .  .  .  Hey  Flammeche!  .  .  . 
Hey,  friends!  Ah!  my  poor  old  Tiennete.  .  .  . 
Pierrot,  why  don't  you  show  yourself!  .  .  .  Old 
Bonaparte,  why  don't  you  cheer  up?  We're  celebrat- 
ing !  .  .  .  I  neglected  you,  they  say.  .  .  .  Forgive  me 
all!  .  .  .  I'm  repenting.  You  know,  it  wasn't  my 
fault.  It  was  that  creature  who  didn't  like  you!  .  .  . 
And  then,  I  hardly  cared  for  the  cafe.  That  doesn't 
mean  that  I  couldn't  drink,  but  I  can't  get  drunk! 
.  .  .  I'll  even  go  one  better;  I  could  never  really  get 
drunk.  I've  tried  it  on  every  possible  occasion.  .  .  . 
Well,  nothing  doing!  I  wasn't  more  drunk  than  be- 
fore; never  more  than  now!  .  .  .  People  say  we  feel 
good  when  drunk.  .  .  .  Ah!  that's  a  pleasure  I  never 
enjoyed!  It's  a  great  misfortune;  greater  than  any- 
thing else!  ...  I  must  weep!  .  .  .  Yes!  .  .  .  Yes! 
Yes!  ..." 

Nono  added  in  a  heavy  voice,  wiping  his  face  with 
his  sleeve. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  105 

"Look  here,  friends!  .  .  .  I'll  pay  for  another 
round!  .  .  .  This  is  a  holiday!  .  .  .  Let's  celebrate 
my  freedom!  .  .  .  I'm  free!  .  .  .  Drink,  friends! 
.  .  .  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  If  there's  some  fresh  meat 
I'll  pay  for  your  supper.  .  .  .  Tienette!  prepare  sup- 
per for  this  whole  damn  gang!  .  .  .  ' 

"You  better  go  home,"  said  the  good  woman.  "Your 
unhappy  little  Laurette  is  waiting  for  you." 

"The  little  one!  .  .  .  She's  a  harlot!  .  .  .  I'll  kick 
her  out!  .  .  .  Prepare  the  supper;  I  still  have  forty 
francs.  My  slut  kept  'em  for  the  little  one's  clothes. 
I'm  going  to  spend  'em,  and  all  these  knaves  are 
going  to  share  'em  with  me.  .  .  .  For  I'm  happy,  and 
glad  to  be  rid  of  her." 

Nono  came  home  at  midnight.  In  the  room  a  dim 
light  permitted  him  to  see  a  little  shadow  furtively 
creeping  out  of  bed,  and  noiselessly  coming  to  him. 
The  drunkard  extended  his  fist  with  all  his  might  into 
the  air,  and  struck  with  a  dull  sound  the  delicate  fea- 
tures of  a  wan  face.  .  .  .  Then  he  went  to  bed.  .  .  . 
There  was  no  sobbing;  everything  remained  silent. 


CHAPTER  n 

A  NEW  life  had  begun. 

From  the  very  next  morning,  the  relations  between 
Nono  and  his  daughter  had  become  clear  and  settled. 
When  he  came  home,  at  eleven  o'clock,  after  the  ex- 
press had  passed  by,  he  found  little  Laurette  standing 
near  the  woodpile. 

In  two  days  she  seemed  to  have  grown  amazingly! 
She  had  become  thin  and  pale  like  a  withered  leaf. 
Her  dilated  eyes  showed  that  she  was  terror-stricken. 
In  the  dark,  one  could  only  see  her  dismayed  glances 
which  followed  timidly  Nono's  movements  and  ges- 
tures. 

On  coming  home,  Nono  threw  his  muddy  apron  and 
cap  on  the  drawers,  where  the  pure  relics  of  the  little 
family  were  lying!  the  marriage  bouquet,  the  photo- 
graphs and  the  lockets  with  the  hair  of  the»dead. 

"Here  you  are!"  Nono  shouted  brutally  to  his 
daughter.  "What  are  you  doing  there?  .  .  .  Couldn't 
you  have  set  the  table?  .  .  .  Would  that  have  incon- 
venienced you  ?  .  .  .  Do  you  think  you're  going  to  do 
nothing?  .  .  .  that  I'm  going  to  give  you  your  mess 
for  nothing?  ..." 

Nono  went  down  the  cellar  to  draw  the  wine;  then 
he  ate  some  cold  bacon.  The  little  girl  did  not  stir, 
and  continued  to  stare  at  him. 

106 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  107 

"Aren't  you  going  to  eat?  ...  Must  you  be  fed? 
.  .  .  Well,  that's  your  business.  Eat  or  don't  eat,  do 
as  you  please,  and  croak  at  your  ease !  .  .  .  ' 

At  night,  Nono  came  home,  almost  as  late  and  as 
drunk  as  on  the  previous  night.  This  continued  for 
two  days.  During  these  two  days,  Laurette  did  not 
go  out.  She  crawled  about  the  house  like  an  insect 
with  broken  legs.  She  moved  from  place  to  place 
silently,  in  an  almost  lifeless  manner;  she  was  inces- 
santly raising  her  pale  curls;  that  was  her  only 
gesture. 

Little  by  little,  however,  by  dint  of  constantly  watch- 
ing in  the  dark,  furtive  rays  of  light  glided  into  this 
distressed  soul.  What  these  rays  exactly  were  no  one 
could  have  divined;  but  they  hastened  her  soul  into 
a  precocious  self-consciousness.  .  .  . 

The  following  day,  when  Nono  came  home  for  his 
midday  meal,  he  found  the  fire  burning,  the  table  set, 
the  wine  drawn  and  the  food  ready.  Henceforth,  little 
Laurette  rose  every  morning  earlier  than  her  father 
and  slipped  out  of  bed  very  quietly ;  Nono  would  only 
get  up  on  hearing  her  little  bare  feet  patter  on  the 
floor.  And  then  it  was  that  the  lowly  life  of  house- 
keeper began  for  Laurette;  everything  would  grow 
animate  beneath  her  light  footsteps  and  feeble  hands. 

The  little  girl  prepared  and  lit  the  fire,  got  every- 
thing ready,  and  warmed  the  soup.  After  her  father 
left,  she  washed  the  dishes,  and  then  it  was  time  for 
her  to  go  to  school. 


108          NONO;  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

At  school,  however,  the  little  one  was  a  poor  pupil. 
She  learnt  her  lessons  very  badly:  she  had,  indeed, 
so  much  to  worry  about!  She  attributed  to  herself 
constantly  the  importance  of  an  anxious  housekeeper 
who  thinks  of  the  meals,  the  provisions,  the  washing 
and  the  mending.  Her  friends  did  not  like  to  play 
with  her.  She  would  walk  along  the  road  to  school 
alone,  with  a  large,  unshapely  basket  under  her  arm. 

The  other  little  girls  had  warm  winter  clothes,  black 
woolen  kerchiefs,  and  cloth  hoods.  With  their  school- 
bags  under  their  arms,  their  work-baskets  in  their 
hands,  they  would  greet  one  another  and  bow  like 
ladies.  One  might  think  them  maidens  of  a  northern 
land.  But  little  Laurette  had  not  her  proper  share 
in  the  eyes  of  her  schoolmates.  She  was  poorly  clad 
in  a  black  dress  and  a  velvet  waist,  green  and  faded. 

Nor  was  Laurette  exactly  a  pretty  girl.  A  cold 
uneasiness  exaggerated  still  more  her  unusual  slender 
body,  her  large  limbs  and  her  nervous  gait.  Her  long, 
narrow  face  was  marked  with  freckles  which  were 
especially  noticeable  near  her  projecting  cheek  bones. 
Her  mouth  was  too  large,  and  was  tightened  by  a 
constrained  expression.  When  embarrassed,  she  low- 
ered her  little  soft  and  pensive  eyes  of  grayish  hue. 
The  delicacy  of  her  face  lay  in  her  finely  arched  eye- 
brows, penciled  as  if  by  a  holy  hand.  She  also  had 
beautiful  golden  hair,  which  hung  down  her  back  in 
a  thick,  wavy  plait.  And  that  was  enough  to  give 
the  little  being  a  deal  of  charm,  a  legendary  grace. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  109 

Nono  grew  more  stupid  than  ever  in  his  sorrow 
and  drunkenness.  The  villagers  saw  him  pass  by,  tak- 
ing long,  heavy  strides,  as  he  plodded  on.  He  held 
out  his  dull  face  and  bent  his  body  forward,  as  if 
the  spade  on  his  shoulder  were  weighing  him  down. 

The  first  few  months  were  the  worst,  for  spring 
had  come.  Oh!  this  month  of  the  Lady-day  with  all 
its  bushes  white!  .  .  .  The  forest  drowned  in  peri- 
winkles !  The  young  leaves  streaked  with  little  drunken 
wings!  .  „  .  And  those  bright  nights,  smothered  with 
kisses  and  penetrated  with  the  light  breath  of  the 
zephyrs  which  seems  to  descend  from  the  starry 
heavens!  .  .  .  Oh!  how  hard  it  is  to  plod  through 
this  burning  and  delirious  world,  so  full  of  passion 
and  caresses,  with  a  heart  turned  to  ashes  and 
dust!  .  .  . 

"Ah!"  said  Nono,  "how  bright  and  happy  every- 
thing seems  to  be  in  this  beautiful  weather !  .  .  .  But 
I !  .  .  .  There's  no  use  talking,  my  end  is  near.  When 
you  only  have  your  shame  to  swallow,  you  might  as 
well  give  up!  .  .  .  ' 

But  when  autumn  came,  these  moods  of  despair 
were  almost  unknown  to  Nono.  When  the  water  in 
the  ditches,  under  the  long  grass  and  pointed  leaves, 
became  motionless  and  dark  like  the  dead;  when  the 
sky  ceased  to  be  bright  and  clear  and  became  a  dull 
and  opaque  expanse,  a  sea  of  moving  mist — only  then 
was  Nono's  heart  in  harmony  with  nature. 

Often  did  he  stop  while  at  work  to  contemplate 
the  fields  that  had  changed  into  a  barren,  marred 


110  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

stretch  of  land.  As  far  as  his  eye  could  see,  the 
ground  was  bare  and  the  branches  dead.  In  the 
marshes,  one  felt  the  deadly  odor  of  the  stagnant 
water  and  the  decayed  leaves.  The  vultures  of  the 
north  walked  on  the  stubble  as  if  on  a  land  of  their 
own.  In  the  dim  sky,  triangular  flocks  of  strange 
birds  flew  by. 

Nono  stared,  with  his  lifeless  eyes,  at  the  gloomy 
horizon  and  at  the  undulating  ground  below  the  mist. 
His  bewildered  mind  ever  returned  to  the  same 
thought  with  a  stupor,  overwhelming  and  ruthless  like 
the  night. 

"Well,  what  can  be  done!  .  .  .  She  may  be  dead; 
but  I'd  be  happier  than  I  am!  .  .  .  There's  no  shame 
in  thinking  of  the  dead." 

Unhappy  Nono!  Indeed,  they  are  happy  who  have 
a  tomb  before  which  they  can  pray!  .  .  .  The  vague 
images  of  their  beloved  do  not  forsake  them.  Every- 
where about  them,  in  the  air,  there  are  imperceptible 
tenderness  and  disembodied  smiles.  But  what  can  be 
said  of  those  who  are  at  the  same  time  dead  and  alive 
for  us  ?  .  .  .  Ah !  when  we  know  that  the  being  dear 
to  us  is  always  beyond,  somewhere  at  the  very  depths 
of  the  soil  .  .  .  and  we  shall  never  see  her  again! 
.  .  .  that  she  is  no  longer  a  friend  or  enemy!  .  .  . 
not  even  a  memory  we  cherish !  .  .  .  not  even  a  dead 
being  we  mourn!  .  .  . 

"But  where  is  that  Nenette,  in  this  vast  world?" 
...  On  this  ruthless  earth,  beneath  a  sky  without  a 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  111 

God.  .  .  .  "Where  is  she?"  .  .  .  Where  is  she  dur- 
ing the  night?  .  .  .  "In  whose  arms?  .  .  .  ' 

There  was  much  rain  towards  the  end  of  autumn. 
All  these  dreary  days  Nono  spent  in  the  cafe,  and, 
at  night,  went  home  drunk  with  absinth.  He  would 
stop  at  the  doorstep,  leaning  forward,  ready  to  tumble 
down,  his  arms  dangling  at  his  side,  and  his  mouth 
wide  open: 

"Well!  .  .  .  What's  the  matter  with  you?"  said  he 
to  his  daughter  in  a  heavy,  indistinct  voice.  "Yes, 

what  are  you  looking  at?  ...  You  little  creature! 
it 

He  sat  down  and  extended  his  long  legs  under  the 
chair.  While  the  little  girl  was  getting  the  supper 
ready.  Nono  ludicrously  affected  a  thoughtful  air. 
With  gaping  mouth  and  looking  at  the  ceiling,  he 
seemed  to  calculate:  "Yes  .  .  .  that's  right.  .  .  . 
However,  let's  see!  ...  But  sure  .  .  .  that's  it!" 

Laurette  interrupted  him :  "Father!  .  .  .  Eat.  .  .  . 
Your  soup'll  be  cold.  .  .  .  ' 

"All  right !  .  .  .  Let  me  alone !  .  .  .  I'm  trying  to 
figure  out  how  many  vineprops  I'll  need.  ..." 

After  he  had  decided  to  have  his  soup,  he  at  once 
went  to  bed.  Little  Laurette  remained  alone.  She 
had  quickly  done  her  housework,  and  now  she  could 
dream  in  peace.  Her  thin  pale  face  grew  animate 
then,  with  a  sad  tenderness.  With  the  gentle  grace 
of  a  little  bird  that  smoothes  down  its  feathers,  she 
ran  her  fingers  through  her  pale  golden  curls.  And 
at  the  movement  of  her  own  caress,  she  drooped  her 


112  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

head  softly,  as  if  she  had  wished  to  think  of  the 
caress  of  another  hand,  of  the  blessed  hand  that  had 
once  rocked  her  cradle.  This  was  a  dream,  but  it  was 
only  for  this  dream  that  the  soul  of  the  child  still 
craves. 

.  .  .  Where  is  her  mother?  She  knows  someone 
has  gone  off  with  her.  Her  older  schoolmates  have 
talked  enough  of  it.  The  cruel  children  have  told  her 
all  that  their  precocious  perversity  allowed  them  to 
understand.  .  .  .  "But  where  is  my  mamma  when  the 
dark  night  comes?"  .  .  .  Wherever  she  may  be,  no 
matter  in  what  place  or  shame,  the  pure  and  innocent 
soul  of  the  child  is  ever  with  her. 

.  .  .  But  here  below,  only  those  who  can  raise  their 
eyes  towards  heaven  are  not  forsaken. 

One  evening  in  November,  however,  her  father  gave 
her  a  happy  surprise.  He  came  home  drunk,  but  he 
was  loud  and  merry. 

"Well  now!  .  .  .  "he  shouted  at  the  very  thresh- 
hold.  "What's  the  matter,  little  one?  I  see  you've 
set  the  table  and  cooked  the  soup!  .  .  .  Well,  that's 
good.  .  .  .  Very  nice!  .  .  .  Your  father  says  so." 

Standing  near  the  threshhold,  his  face  wearing  the 
broad,  silly  smile  of  drunkards,  he  waved  a  grotesque 
gesture  of  welcome  with  his  hand. 

"You  know  I'm  really  not  hungry.  ...  I  had  some- 
thing at  four  o'clock  at  M.  Rogout's.  He  handed  up 
some  good  wine !  When  we  keep  some  good  stuff  for 
three  years,  we  think  it  great.  .  .  .  But  it  is  really 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  113 

hardly  the  proper  time  to  begin  to  drink  it.  ...  We're 
too  much  in  a  hurry.  We  like  to  drink  too  much: 
I  always  said  so.  But  you're  a  good  little  darling! 
Come  now!  .  .  .  Come  and  sit  on  my  lap.  .  .  . 
What's  the  matter?  Don't  cry!  I  don't  like  it.  None 
of  that  nonsense?  .  .  .  No  faces  now!  .  .  .  Won't 
you  come  to  my  lap?" 

Laurette  sat  down  in  trembling  uncertainty  on  her 
father's  lap,  and  her  arms  enlaced  the  long,  veiny 
and  hard  neck  on  which  she  hid  her  quivering  face. 

"You're  loving!  ...  I  like  that.  You're  a  good 
little  darling.  .  .  .  You  do  a  great  deal  in  the  house. 
.  .  .  Oh !  I  can  see  it,  believe  me.  I  have  a  keen  eye : 
I  see  everything.  This  I  have  from  my  old  man. 
He,  too,  was  very  cunning.  .  .  .  To  do  him  justice, 
he  was  somewhat  knavish.  But  you're  a  good  little 
girl!  .  .  . 

"Ah!  but  you  ain't  so  loving  every  day.  .  .  .  You 
usually  look  disgusted  when  I  come  home.  .  .  .  But 
it's  me  who  is  disgusted  by  such  manners.  I  don't 
like  that.  .  .  .  But  don't  cry.  .  .  .  I'm  not  scolding 
you.  I'm  simply  letting  you  know  that,  after  all,  I'm 
your  father,  and  that  you  mustn't  be  so  particular  with 
me!  ... 

"You're  a  pretty  girl!  .  .  .  Do  you  know  it?  ... 
You're  my  little  pink  angel!  .  .  .  But  see  that  you 
don't  become  later  on  a  slut  like  your  mother!  .  .  . 
But  what's  the  matter?  ...  Ah!  Heavens!  you're 
choking  me.  .  .  .  You  little  wretch,  loosen  your  grip, 
or  I'll  land  you  a  blow !  .  .  .  Don't  start  that  business 


114  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

again,  because  I  don't  like  it.  ...  You  little  slut! 
.  .  .  Look  here  now,  don't  cry !  Come  now !  smile  to 
your  father.  .  .  .  What  a  funny  face  you're  mak- 
ing! ..." 

The  drunkard  burst  out  laughing.  He  bounced  the 
child  on  his  lap,  as  if  she  were  still  a  baby.  With 
nervous  grace,  Laurette  held  on  to  his  neck.  Not 
daring  to  speak  too  loud,  she  mumbled  on  his  cheek 
some  indistinct  phrases.  And  the  drunkard  smiling, 
drooped  his  head  and  listened  to  that  unknown 
murmur. 

"What  are  you  saying?  I  don't  hear.  Now  look 
here,  talk  louder!  .  .  .  You  ask  whether  I  love  you? 
.  .  .  Why,  of  course.  You  want  me  to  kiss  you  when 
I  come  in  the  evening?  All  right;  but  don't  put  on 
your  disgusted  air.  .  .  .  Yes,  I'll  kiss  you  if  you  like 
it.  .  .  .  I'm  your  papa.  .  .  .  Only  don't  squeeze  my 
neck  so  hard,  or  I'll  get  angry!  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  soon  wanted  to  get  up.  "There's  something 
wrong  with  me !  ...  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter 
with  me.  I'm  going  to  lie  down  near  you.  Go  and 
fetch  the  bedmat.  .  .  .  That's  right!  .  .  .  Put  it 
down  near  the  fire.  .  .  .  That's  good." 

The  drunkard  lay  down  then,  stolidly  on  the  floor, 
and  soon  fell  asleep.  He  awoke  only  very  late  at 
night.  When  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  perceived  the 
child  sitting  near  him  on  a  chair.  She  was  sitting 
beside  him,  and  feeding  the  fire. 

Nono  got  up  in  a  bad  humor.  "Now !  .  .  .  Great 
God!  What's  the  matter?  ...  I  fell  asleep!  .  .  . 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  115 

How  stupid!  .  .  .  Couldn't  you  wake  me!  ...  Ah! 
good  heavens !  I'm  all  broken  up.  Help  me  rise.  Come 
now !  Hurry !  .  .  .  You  confounded  little  slut !  .  .  .  " 
Laurette  led  him  to  his  bed,  and  helped  him  un- 
dress and  lie  down.  Then  she  came  back  and  wept 
near  the  fireplace.-  .  .  .  The  following  day  things  con- 
tinued as  before:  Nono  began  again  to  get  drunk  with 
absinth,  and  the  evenings  at  the  house  were  sadder 
than  ever. 


CHAPTER  III 

ON  Christmas  eve,  Nono  invited  a  number  of  his 
friends  for  a  midnight  supper.  Among  them  were 
the  frequenters  of  the  Cafe  Caillot:  Flon-Flon,  Fum- 
eron,  Briquet.  Flammeche  was  not  there,  but  Grele  was 
there  instead.  Nono  thus  invited  another  wag,  lanky, 
and  round-shouldered,  with  a  bony,  reddish  face 
seamed  with  smallpox  and  with  alert,  churlish  eyes. 
He  was  a  merry  boon  companion  of  the  cafe.  He 
had  lately  returned  from  the  army,  and  had  fought  in 
Tonkin.  Two  other  winegrowers  of  the  Rue  Haute 
and  a  mountaineer  had"  joined  these  habitues  of  the 
Cafe  Caillot.  No  one  knew  how  they  happened  to 
join  this  group ;  but  the  fact  is  that  they  did  not  leave 
Nono  and  his  friends  for  a  moment  and  did  not  miss 
a  single  drink.  While  the  men  were  eating  the  sausage 
and  drinking  the  white  wine,  little  Laurerte  sitting 
near  the  fireplace,  notched  the  chestnuts  before  putting 
them  into  the  grillpan. 

.  .  .  They  soon  began  to  tackle  Nono,  however. 
The  poor  fellow  was  tracked  and  surrounded.  It  was 
a  question  of  who  would  deal  the  most  bitter  blow. 
Their  subject  of  mockery  was  ever  the  same. 

"Your  wife  is  at  Besanc.on,"  said  Grele.  "I'll  give 
you  her  address  whenever  you  like." 

"All  right.    But  what  is  she  doing  there?" 

116 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  117 

"She  works  with  taste,  it  seems." 

"Is  she  still  with  Renardin?" 

"Ah!  .  .  .  that  depends.  They're  together,  they 
leave  each  other,  and  then  they  come  together 
again.  .  .  .  ' 

"But  what  work  is  she  doing?" 

"She  unbuttons  suspenders." 

"That's  no  kind  of  work.  .  .  .  You're  laughing  at 
me.  .  .  Tell  me  whether  she's  working  in  a  factory, 
or  doing  piece  work  at  home?  .  .  .  ' 

A  vulgar  reply  caused  an  outburst  of  laughter,  but 
did  not  irritate  Nono. 

"You're  laughing !  .  .  .  But,  believe  me,  I  saw  your 
point  very  well.  I  play  the  innocent  fellow  to  make 
you  laugh  a  bit,  but  I  understand  very  well.  ...  I 
know  what  I  must  know.  .  .  .  I'm  no  novice.  Be- 
sides, I  was  two  months  in  the  army !  I  was  a  soldier 
for  only  two  months,  because  my  old  man  was  more 
than  seventy.  ...  I  can  assure  you  that  these  two 
months  have  taken  the  rawness  out  of  me !  .  .  .  Oh ! 
I  treated  myself  to  it !  .  .  .  What  a  time  I  had !  They 
hardly  believed  it  here;  I  had  left  with  forty-two 
francs.  .  .  .  Well,  do  you  want  to  know  how  much 
I  had  on  my  return?  .  .  .  Sixteen  sous!  .  .  .  Ah! 
but  my  old  man  rubbed  it  into  me !  'You  big  lout !  .  .  . 
You  lazy  boor !  .  .  .  And  during  that  time  I  ate  rot- 
ten bacon!  .  .  .  '  Yes,  but  the  old  fellow  didn't  say 
.  .  .  that  during  that  time  he  had  emptied  thirty-two 
liters  of  grape  brandy.  .  .  .  ' 

The  conversation  was  about  to  digress,  but  the  fel- 


118  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

lows  saw  to  it  that  it  should  not  deviate  from  their 
favorite  topic.  They  set  Nono  on  the  right  track; 
and  all,  finally,  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  rail: 
"...  First  of  all,  love!  ...  it  should  be  settled 
just  as  a  matter  of  appetite.  .  .  .  Neither  the 
heart  nor  the  head  must  bother  about  it.  ... 
You  might  as  well  dry  drenched  lambs  in  an  oven, 
as  hand  over  to  a  woman  your  heart  and  soul! 
.  .  .  Ah !  the  devils  don't  hesitate  a  moment  to  tread 
upon  'em.  .  .  . 

"A  woman  is  only  just  good  to  milk  you !  .  .  .  You 
don't  have  to  laugh,  Fumeron!  You  can  also  wear 
the  chocolate  medal  of  cuckolds.  .  .  .  The  fat  ain't 
a  whit  better  than  the  lean  ones !  .  .  .  Mine  was  thin 
.  .  .  yours  is  fat ;  but  you're  not  paying  for  it.  .  .  .  ' 

"You  damned  idiot !  .  .  .  My  wife,  at  least,  didn't 
run  off  with  Renardin !  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  that's  all  that's  worrying  you.  It  is  she,  in- 
deed, who  gives  you  your  soup,  and  even  the  bread 
over  which  to  pour  it.  Once  she's  gone,  you'll  have 
nothing  at  all!  .  .  .  Come!  my  little  one!  Either  let 
your  belly  pinch,  or  work.  But  these  are  two  things 
that  a  glutton  and  a  lazy  lout  hardly  likes.  .  .  .  ' 

"You  damned  fool!  I,  at  least,  don't  give  a  hang 
about  my  wife;  and  I  laid  her  aside  when  I  had  my 
fill  of  her.  I  didn't  pamper  her  up  for  ten  years, 
like  you,  with  sweets.  Nor  did  I  coddle  and  cajole 
her  the  way  you  did  yours.  .  .  .  And  even  now  all 
your  speeches  don't  stop  you  from  sweetening  the 
milk  of  a  Renardin.  .  " 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  119 

"Oh!  that's  possible.  I  don't  want  to  criticise  the 
thing.  .  .  .  The  little  one  is  here:  that's  true.  But 
as  soon  as  she  grows  up,  she'll  get  out  of  here!  .  .  . 
Let  her  just  reach  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  I'll  tell  her 
to  pack  up  and  go.  ...  'Well,  little  one,  the  cuckoo 
has  brooded  long  enough  over  another  one's  egg !  .  .  . 
Go  and  look  for  shelter  elsewhere.  .  .  .  The  world 
is  large:  travel  through  it,  and  make  in  turn  some 
little  ones  to  give  it  a  bit  more  life.'  That's  what 
I'll  do  and  say,  Fumeron !  .  .  .  And,  in  the  meantime, 
don't  you  be  too  cunning!  .  .  .  Your  wife  and  your 
three  children  will  not  only  some  day  prune  your  vines, 
but  they'll  beat  you,  too  .  .  .  For  they  haven't  much 
respect  for  the  paltry  brute  who  happens  to  be  their 
father." 

"These  children  are,  at  least,  mine !" 

"Oh!  Fumeron!  .  .  .  These  are  certainly  preten- 
sions! .  .  .  I've  a  notion,  and  nobody  here  will  deny 
it,  that  you're  altogether  too  certain  about  that. 
.  .  .  The  first  one,  your  oldest  .  .  .  he's  big,  fat 
and  has  fine  color.  ...  Do  you  mean  to  say  he 
doesn't  suggest  to  you  the  fat  butcher  next  door! 
...  As  for  the  little  girl.  .  .  .  Is  it  M.  de  Maraudon 
who  has  given  her  that  turned-up  nose.  That's  what 
happens  when  a  real  good-looking  woman  washes 
for  the  bourgeois!  .  .  .  And  the  second  boy 
.  .  .  why!  he's  the  double  of  Variguard,  Jr!  .  .  . 
To  be  sure,  my  friend,  there's  plenty  in  the  pantry, 
and  there's  lard  in  the  salting-tub!  But  you  paid 
dearly  for  it." 


120  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

As  he  finished  these  words,  a  noise  interrupted 
Nono.  Little  Laurette  was  crying.  Nono  said  no 
more.  The  poor  beast  remained  open-mouthed  failing 
to  understand  anything. 

"Well  now!"  said  Fumeron.  "What's  the  matter? 
.  .  .  What!  .  .  .  she's  crying!  And  what  next!  .  .  . 
ha!  ha!  ...  " 

"Leave  her  in  peace,"  sneered  Flon-Flon.  "If  we 
look  at  her  she'll  think  she's  interesting." 

Then  all  those  around  the  table  shouted:  "Yes! 
Enough !  Nono !  .  .  .  send  her  to  bed,  and  let  her  not 
bother  us !" 

"Do  you  hear?"  cried  Fumeron.  "You  confounded 
Renardinette !  .  .  .  To  the  kennel !  Go  to  bed !  .  .  .  ' 

The  child  stood  up,  and  sobbed  bitterly.  .  .  .  Sud- 
denly, she  rushed  at  the  man  who  was  insulting  her. 
The  attack  was  so  sudden  that  Fumeron  was  thrust 
back  on  his  chair.  The  little  girl  struck  him  with 
the  convulsive  rage  of  a  child;  and  the  man,  taken 
by  surprise,  protected  himself  awkwardly  with  his 
elbow. 

"Hey  there!  you  rotten  little  beast!  .  .  .  ' 

The  other  winegrowers  rose,  and  seized  Laurette, 
who  was  struggling  to  get  away.  Now  she  cast  fero- 
cious glances  at  her  father ;  silently,  she  called  him  ter- 
rible names.  In  the  midst  of  this  uproar,  Fumeron 
got  on  his  feet  and  struck  the  child  down  with  a 
blow. 

"Why,  the  cursed  beast  sprained  my  thumb!" 

He  howled  as  he  showed  his  thumb.  Laurette  calmed 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  121 

down  at  once,  and  the  drunkards  pushed  her  into  the 
bedroom  and  shut  the  door. 

They  had  hardly  sat  down  again,  when  the  moun- 
taineer rose:  "I'm  going,"  said  he  quietly. 

The  others  looked  at  him  with  amazed  faces:  "Well, 
here's  a  fine  customer  for  you!"  cried  Flon-Flon. 
"Now  that  his  paunch  is  full,  he  goes  away!" 

"I "  and  the  stranger  blurted  out  a  very  vulgar 

expression. 

"Great  heavens!  don't  get  angry!" 

"Look  at  this  now !" 

"Does  the  company  displease  you?" 

"Oh!  it  hardly  pleases  me,"  the  man  replied. 

He  was  ready  to  withstand  all  of  them.  His  legs 
were  not  very  steady,  but  he  was  a  strapping  fellow. 
He  had  a  square  face  and  hard,  strong  features,  tight 
lips  and  little  hollow  eyes,  stubborn  and  pensive. 

"Ah!  you're  like  all  the  mountaineers:  a  lot  of  diffi- 
cult creatures  who  always  have  something  to  find  fault 
with!  ..." 

"I  don't  know  about  that!  ...  I  can't  find  fault 
with  everything.  There's  a  good  little  child  here ;  but 
her  father  is  a  damned  idiot.  I'm  going.  So-long!" 

"Ah!  ..."  muttered  Nono  who  seemed  to  wake 
up.  He  arose  noisily.  But  the  man  was  already  on 
the  staircase.  Nono  followed  him :  "Hey !  look  here ! 
Hey  there!  ..." 

.  .  .  The  mountaineer  waited  for  him  quietly  in  the 
middle  of  the  street.  Nono  ran  up  to  him. 

"Hey  there!     I  don't  know  if  I  caught  what  you 


122  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

said.  .  .  .  But  I'd  like  to  have  you  repeat  what  you 
said  about  me.  .  .  . 

"What?" 

"A  while  ago  you  let  slip  a  word  I  don't  like.  .  .  . 
You  ate  my  sausage  and  drank  my  wine;  and  then 
you  insulted  me  by  way  of  thanks!  Understand  me 
now!  I  don't  reproach  you  for  what  you've  had,  but 
for  what  you've  said." 

"I  won't  recant  nothing." 

"Listen,  then,  my  chum!  .  .  .  I'm  not  more  of  a 
coward  than  any  other  man.  .  .  .  If  it  suits  you,  we 
can  start  at  cnce." 

"Oh !  I'm  game.  You're  a  big  fellow.  ...  So  am 
I.  ...  Go  ahead!  ..." 

The  mountaineer  took  off  the  muffler  that  he  had 
wrapped  round  his  neck.  Nono,  his  face  in  the  air 
and  his  nose  puckered  up,  was  unbuttoning  the  collar 
of  his  shirt  with  both  hands.  Both  men  were  alone 
in  the  street.  The  air  was  soft  and  the  night  was 
clear.  Now  and  then  could  be  heard  from  the  nearby 
houses  the  laughter  of  children  and  the  bustle  of  feast- 
ing; the  rays  from  the  merry  windows  brightened  the 
whitish  road.  In  the  sky,  amid  the  dark  abyss,  a  pale 
moon  reposed  in  a  soft  vale  of  white  clouds. 

"Are  you  ready?"  said  Nono. 

"Yes.  Here  I  am!  .  .  .  Only  a  moment  ago  you 
weren't  in  such  a  hurry !" 

"When  do  you  mean?" 

"When  they  insulted  your  good  little  girl,  and  you 
said  nothing." 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  123 

"Oh  yes !"  Nono  reflected.  "Yes  indeed !  Well,  let 
me  tell  you  that  I  don't  care  much  about  fighting  with 
you.  It's  very  queer.  Only,  you  know,  I'm  not  a 
coward !" 

"Yes,  I  think  so.    And  you're  perhaps  not  so  bad." 

"Yes !  What  you  say  is  indeed  true !" 

"You're  the  least  rotten  of  the  whole  gang." 

"Yes !  .  .  .  that's  also  quite  true !  .  .  .  " 

"Oh!  you're  a  poor  fellow,  that's  all.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well  then!  .  .  .  Mountaineer!  .  .  .  That,  too,  is 
right!  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  a  poor  fellow.  .  .  .  One  of  the 
unhappiest  hereabouts." 

"Really!" 

"Do  you  know  of  my  misfortune?" 

"No." 

"My  wife  has  gone  off  ten  months  ago  with  a 
neighbor,  and  left  me  a  little  one.  I  weep  when  I'm 
alone.  ...  I  laugh  before  the  others.  .  .  .  It's  just 
rending  my  heart  to  pieces." 

"That's  possible." 

"That's  possible!  .  .  .  That's  possible!  Why,  I'm 
telling  you  so." 

"It's  because  you  want  it  so." 

"Ah!  perhaps.    My  fate  is  doing  it." 

"Oh !  It  lies  with  you  to  be  almost  happy,  for  you've 
a  very  good  little  girl.  .  .  .  Oh!  I  wouldn't  give  a 
damn  for  that  wretch,  for  she  hasn't  even  pity  for 
her  suffering  little  one." 

"Look  here !  .  .  .  Man !  Tell  me  exactly  with  what 
you  can  reproach  me.  ...  I  don't  care  whether  you 


124  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

talk  in  the  tongue  of  the  mountain  or  in  the  dialect 
of  the  plain,  but  talk  like  a  Christian.  .  .  .  ' 

"I  saw  in  your  house  what  I  hadn't  seen  in  fifty 
years,  whether  on  the  mountain  or  here  below  on  the 
plain:  a  gang  of  sods  insulting  and  beating  a  good 
little  girl;  and  a  blockhead  of  a  father  letting  'em 
do  it  ...  " 

"Yes!  .  .  .  That's  so!  ...  Enough!  .  .  .  Don't 
bang  away  as  if  you  were  deaf,  I've  got  enough.  .  .  . 
Now  I'm  sober,  .  .  .  Mountaineer !  .  .  .  Listen !  .  .  . 
Well,  I  don't  deserve  entirely  your  reproach ;  but  what 
you've  said  was  right.  .  .  .  Are  you  going,  after 
all?  ..." 

"Yes." 

"I  say !  I  go  sometimes  to  the  mountain  for  a  cart- 
load of  wood.  .  .  .  What  is  your  village  ?" 

"Ternant." 

"Ah !  You're  of  Ternant !  ...  Oh !  I  know  it.  ... 
I've  brought  wine  enough  there.  .  .  .  But  what  is 
your  name?  .  .  .  ' 

"I'm  a  Thevenin." 

"A  Thevenin !  .  .  .  Where  is  your  house  ?  One  mo- 
ment! Is  it  the  upper  part  of  the  village?" 

"I  don't  remain  in  the  village.  I'm  in  the  woods. 
I'm  a  woodcutter.  You'll  find  me:  I'm  in  the  Govern- 
ment woods.  I  must  go:  I  have  still  to  cross  the 
mountain  and  the  fields.  Good-bye!  Farewell!" 

"Hey!  .  .  .  Farewell!" 

Nono  remained  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and 
watched  the  stranger  till  he  disappeared. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  125 

"What's  the  address  of  the  customer?  ...  A  tim- 
beryard  in  the  Government  woods !  .  .  .  One  hundred 
thousand  acres  of  forests!  .  .  .  ' 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  street  save  the  low 
murmur  of  the  water  in  the  fountain  nearby.  .  .  . 
Nono  was  reflecting.  .  .  .  The  cold  air  had  made  him 
feel  much  better.  The  bright  moonlight  heightened 
his  spirits.  The  arrows  that  the  pure  stars  of  crystal- 
like  clarity  launched,  penetrated  Nono.  He  raised  his 
eyes  towards  those  glances  that  no  distance  can  tire,  that 
the  infinite  cannot  overcome,  which  are  here  below, 
to  all  those  of  the  night,  a  constant  light  and  call.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Finally,  Nono  entered  his  house. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  sudden  departure  of  the  mountaineer  had  stupe- 
fied the  winegrowers. 

"Well,  that's  a  customer  for  you !"  murmured  Flon- 
Flon,  who  was  looking  towards  the  door  distrustfully. 

"But  where  does  that  creature  come  from?"  asked 
one  of  the  two  winegrowers  of  the  Rue  Haute.  "Did 
you  notice  when  he  joined  our  party?" 

"No,"  answered  Flon-Flon,  "but  you  know  .  .  . 
that's  one  of  the  tricks  of  a  mountaineer.  When  he 
sees  a  party  of  friends  celebrating,  he  often  sneaks  in, 
and  makes  himself  one  of  the  party  without  being 
asked  to  join.  .  .  .  ' 

"That's  quite  true!"  Briquet  affirmed  energetically. 
"On  Thursday  you  must  be  on  the  lookout.  .  .  .  It's 
court  day,  and  they  come  down  in  packs;  for  a  week 
doesn't  pass  without  their  having  some  dispute.  .  .  . 
They  fight  hard  before  the  judge,  and  then  they  drink 
together.  .  .  .  But  we  have  to  pay  for  it !  ..." 

"As  for  me,"  said  Grele  rolling  a  cigarette,  "the 
mountaineer  doesn't  bother  me:  he  makes  me  laugh! 
Saturdays,  I  watch  them  pass  by  when  they  go  to 
the  market,  to  Dijon,  with  their  laden  carts.  The 
outfit  contains  everything:  wine  in  bottles  and  casks, 
beets,  straw,  vegetables,  and  an  egg-basket,  a  sack  of 
potatoes,  and  besides,  to  make  the  load  full,  one  or 

126 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  127 

two  sacks  of  coal.  Those  bandits  turn  everything  to 
account!  With  their  bits  of  ground,  their  wretched 
stables,  their  poultry  and  their  bits  of  forest  .  .  .  they 
exploit  their  rocky  land  full  of  box-trees,  worse  than 
pirates!  .  .  .  Besides,  they  can  get  cash  out  of 
stones.  .  .  .  ' 

"And  he  certainly  has  his  way  of  filling  up  his 
paunch!"  added  the  crabbed  Briquet.  "He  himself, 
chooses  the  house.  .  .  .  He  comes  round  just  as  it 
strikes  half  past  eleven  and  places  his  big  carcass  in 
front  of  the  door.  It's  just  as  if  by  chance  that  the 
housewife  is  setting  the  table,  for  the  fellow  hears 
from  afar  the  clinking  of  the  plates.  .  .  .  The  poor 
woman  looks  annoyed  at  the  sight  of  this  being  ap- 
pearing from  underground.  .  .  .  She  sees  the  trick  at 
once;  someone  is  coming  to  eat  her  food.  .  .  .  And 
he,  too,  pretends  to  be  annoyed.  .  .  .  'Ah!  .  .  .  *  he 
says,  raising  his  face  that's  as  graceful  as  a  stump. 
.  .  .  And  a  moment  later,  he  is  seated  at  a  corner 
of  the  table,  and  digs  into  the  plate  as  if  he  was 
breaking  up  a  field!  From  one  end  of  the  table  to 
the  other,  he  stretches  out  his  arm  and  has  his  pick 
of  the  dishes  and  meats." 

"But  that  serves  us  right!  .  .  .  Why  must  we  buy 
wood  from  those  blackguards  ?"  interrupted  Flon-Flon, 
who  had  been  a  timber  cutter  in  Le  Pays-Bas  and 
who  was  preaching  for  his  master.  "They're  all  tim- 
ber merchants.  .  .  .  But  what  merchants!  .  .  .  Look 
at  'em  on  September  first,  when  they  all  come  tumbling 
down  the  mountain,  to  go  to  Dijon  at  the  timber  sale. 


128  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Seven  or  eight  of  'em  crowd  together  in  one  cart. 
Ah!  you  can  see  those  carts  laden  with  blue  blouses, 
felt  caps,  and  snouts  raised  in  the  air  that  are  as 
friendly  as  pruning-bills.  .  .  .  They  chew  upon  their 
buying  for  months;  and  the  entire  mountain  doesn't 
sleep  for  a  week,  but  they  spend  their  time  in  calcula- 
ting their  knavish  prices  of  thieves.  .  .  .  You're  robbed 
when  you  buy  from  the  mountaineers.  My  boss,  who's 
a  true  man  of  Le  Pays-Bas  and  who's  very  cheap  told 
me  so.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah  yes!  Go  right  on!"  exclaimed  Grele.  "He 
seemed  to  be  outraged,  but  it  was  only  to  boost  his 
friends.  Who  of  you  ever  saw  a  man  of  Le  Pays-Bas 
who  was  cheap?  .  .  .  Old  chap,  you  flung  this  at  us 
without  even  any  warning !  .  .  .  ' 

"Le  Pays-Bas!"  howled  Briquet.  .  .  "they're  all 
blackguards!  ..." 

The  little  fellow  was  on  his  feet.  Pale  and  drunk 
with  wine,  he  gesticulated,  talking  like  a  prosecutor 
who  uses  his  eloquence  against  the  accused. 

"Listen,  friends !  .  .  .  There  aren't  no  worse  people 
than  those  of  Le  Pays-Bas !  .  .  .  But  let  me  talk.  .  .  . 
By  heavens!  I've  much  to  say  on  that  matter.  .  .  . 
They  made  me  writhe  enough  during  harvest  time. 
The  man  of  the  plain  is  a  boaster,  a  bawler  and  a 
thief.  .  .  .  He  always  robs  you,  wild  pigs  and  old 
seeds!  .  .  .  When  we  sell  him  wine:  he  never  pays 
for  it!  .  .  .  If  you  buy  a  cow  from  him:  it  croaks! 
.  .  .  You  marry  his  daughter:  she's  a  harlot!  .  .  . 
Ah!  what  base  creatures!  .  .  " 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  129 

"Oh!  cursed  Briquet!"  shouted  Grele.  "Enough! 
.  .  .  He's  gone!  hold  him  back!  .  .  .  There  isn't  a 
more  terrible  creature  than  that  little  fellow!  .  .  . 

Once  he's  at  work,  he  can  fell  the  whole  of  France! 
» 

.  .  .  The  company  laughed  heartily  when  Nono 
entered. 

Nono  had  hardly  opened  the  door  when  Grele 
shouted  to  him:  "Hey!  Nono!  .  .  .  Where  do  you 
come  from?  You've  a  fiendish  look.  .  .  .  Have  you 
been  tampering  with  a  petticoat?  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  friends!  ..."  said  Nono  quietly,  standing 
at  the  threshhold  of  the  door  and  rubbing  his  head 
with  his  cap.  "I  see  you  want  to  start  me  off  again; 
but  it's  too  late.  To-morrow  morning  I've  some  dung 
to  carry  off.  .  .  .  You've  drunk  all  the  wine  .  .  . 
eaten  all  the  sausage.  Well,  you've  nothing  else  to 
do  here.  Go  home,  let  me  go  to  bed  and  let's  remain 
good  friends.  .  .  .  ' 

"Here's  another  customer  for  you !"  howled  Briquet, 
still  standing  and  ready  for  another  speech.  "Here's 
a  rotten  cuckold  whom  we're  trying  to  amuse,  and 
who,  by  way  of  thanks,  is  kicking  us  out!  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  little  Briquet!"  replied  Nono  in  a  brisk  tone. 
"Your  talk  is  too  insolent  for  a  lean  little  creature 
like  you!  ...  Eh?  ...  What's  that?  .  .  .  When  I 
see  long  ears  like  yours,  I'm  very  eager  to  pull  'em." 

Nono  took  hold  of  one  of  Briquet's  ears,  and  pulled 
it  briskly  without  much  ado.  Briquet  lowered  his 


130  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

head,  looked  at  Nono  from  head  to  foot  with  round 
anxious  eyes. 

"Well,  little  Briquet!  why  do  you  look  at  me  so 
with  your  little  squirrel  eyes?  Don't  be  so  terrified! 
You're  rotten!  .  .  .  But  you're  a  poor  creature,  sal- 
low, a  mere  weakling,  frail  as  a  leaf.  You've  a  right, 
then,  to  be  wicked.  .  .  .  Besides,  your  wife  is  a  very 
good  woman.  .  .  .  Go  home  in  peace!  .  .  .  Poor 
worm  of  this  cursed  earth,  creep  into  your  mud !  .  .  . 
Only,  this  is  a  bad  place  for  you.  Don't  you  ever 
come  back  again!  .  .  .  ' 

Briquet  escaped  sideways.  .  .  .  He  remained  stand- 
ing with  a  sheepish  look,  his  arms  hanging  at  his 
sides,  his  head  sunk  between  his  shoulders,  rolling  his 
bewildered  eyes.  .  .  .  They  all  laughed  and  jeered  at 
him:  "Hey  there!  .  .  .  Briquet!  What's  the  matter? 
What  have  you  seen?  .  .  .  You  look  as  if  you  had 
escaped  from  a  trap !  .  .  .  ' 

"You  must  have  little  courage,  indeed,  to  stand  for 
that !"  blustered  Fumeron,  brushing  his  huge  mustache 
with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "Fancy  me  letting  such 
an  idiot  pull  my  ears!" 

He  had  hardly  finished  his  sentence,  when  a  power- 
ful blow  almost  felled  him.  He  straightened  up,  seized 
a  chair  by  the  back  and  turned  it  up  as  if  to  throw 
it;  he  stamped  and  yelled:  "If  I  didn't  hold  myself 
back!  ...  by  heavens!  ...  If  I  didn't  hold  myself 
back!" 

"Hey!  .  .  .  Hold  yourself  back,  I  say!"  said  Nono 
peacefully.  "My  old  man  has  often  told  me:  The 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  131 

man  who  restrains  himself  has  a  certificate  for  a  long 
life  in  his  bag.' ' 

But  the  whole  pack  of  winegrowers  were  in  fine 
spirits.  Flon-Flon,  a  Flon-Flon  as  amiable  as  possible, 
approached  Nono  very  gently:  "Well,  old  chum!  .  .  . 
You've  a  mighty  good  fist !  .  .  .  * 

"Get  out,  you  foul  beast,  shut  up !  ...  Look  here, 
friends!  .  .  .  You  must  go,  even  if  you  don't  care  to." 

"Ah!  confounded  Nono!"  replied  Flon-Flon. 
"We're  going.  .  .  .  But  you  must  come  and  have  a 
drink  with  us.  ...  If  you  won't  come,  we'll  think 
you  don't  like  our  company.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well!  .  .  .  Listen,  friends!  .  .  .  I'm  going  to 
talk  openly  to  you.  .  .  .  Your  company  is  agreeable; 
and  yet  it  doesn't  exactly  please  me.  .  .  .  You  can 
think  whatever  you  like!  .  .  .  I've  nothing  against 
you,  and  I  don't  look  down  on  you.  .  .  .  But  I  say 
things  in  my  own  way.  .  .  .  Only,  look  here!  .  .  . 
I'm  not  going  to  continue  this  business  of  drinking 
and  doing  nothing.  ...  I've  no  income  like  Flon- 
Flon.  .  .  .  He's  inherited  his  father's  money.  He's 
but  to  dig  into  his  chests:  that's  his  hardest  work. 
We,  on  the  contrary,  must  sweat  for  every  sou.  .  .  . 
And  at  the  death  of  his  brother,  the  knave  was  happy: 
his  five  franc  pieces  doubled.  .  .  .  But  I  must  buy 
vine-props,  sulphide,  and  I've  no  wine  in  my  cellar. 
...  I  haven't  a  sou.  My  wretched  wife  has  left  me; 
but  that's  no  reason  for  me  to  abandon  in  turn  the 
shanty  and  the  little  one,  who's  a  good  little  girl.  I 
warn  you,  therefore,  that  from  to-day  on,  I'll  stick 


132  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

to  my  work:  the  tilling  of  the  soil.  .  .  .  Know  then! 
This  is  a  last  farewell  I'm  giving  you.  .  .  .  I've  suf- 
fered: you  diverted  me,  and  I've  done  likewise.  .  .  . 
We'll  each  go  our  way:  you  all  together  in  your  way, 
and  I  in  mine,  quite  alone,  happy,  without  a  mur- 
mur! ..." 

"Come  now,  Nono!" 

"Nono,  old  chum!  .  .  .  Come!" 

"Old  chap!  ..." 

"Now  that's  enough!  .  .  .  Behave  yourselves! 
Come  now !  Off  with  you !  .  .  .  ' 

"Look  here!  .  .  .  Nono!"  said  Flon-Flon  in  an 
easy-going  friendly  voice.  "Come  and  have  the  last 
drink  with  us!  ...  Come!  .  .  .  And  then  you'll 
leave  us.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  all  right!  .  .  .  I'll  go." 

But  at  the  door  of  the  cafe,  Nono  changed  his 
mind:  "Ah!  .  .  .  Excuse  me!  .  .  .  I'll  be  with  you 
in  a  minute;  I  left  the  trap-door  of  the  cellar  open." 

In  reality  he  was  walking  back  towards  his  house, 
not  to  close  his  cellar,  but  he  was  impelled  by  an  inner 
feeling,  an  awakening  of  tenderness  in  his  soul  and 
body. 

.  .  .  There  was  a  dim  light  in  the  window  of  his 
little  house.  Nono  did  not  dare  walk  up.  He  stopped 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  heard  Laurette's  foot- 
steps: she  was  replacing  the  dishes  and  setting  the 
room  in  order. 

With  a  heavy  heart,  he  went  out  and  sat  down  on 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL         '  133 

a  low  wall  several  paces  from  the  house.  He  saw  the 
window  open,  and  the  little  one  sweeping.  At  times 
the  shadow  of  the  child  stretched  across  the  road,  in 
the  space  of  yellow  light  which  came  from  the  window. 
The  little  girl,  herself,  then  appeared  and  shook  her 
broom  on  the  balustrade  of  the  balcony. 

"Well,  a  girl  of  twenty  couldn't  do  any  "better!  .  .  . 
And  she's  only  eleven!  .  .  .  Ah!  here's  one  who's 
happy  here  below!  .  .  .  Poor  child!  .  .  .  Ah!  how 
I've  acted  to-night!  .  .  .  Didn't  I  say  I'd  kick  her 
out  later  ?  .  .  .  And  yet  you're  working,  little  darling ! 
.  .  .  My  child!  .  .  .  My  dear  one!  .  .  .  Your  big 
brute  isn't  worth  much,  eh?  .  .  .  ' 

Thus  was  Nono  talking  to  himself.  But  the  light 
of  the  little  house  was  soon  extinguished,  and  Nono 
was  alone  in  the  night,  surrounded  by  a  profound 
stillness. 

The  moon  filled  with  its  beams  the  world  cf  space, 
and  adorned  the  earth  with  a  bright  gleam.  The  glow- 
ing night  was  azure  tinged  with  rose;  there  was  also 
almost  a  feeling  of  spring  in  the  atmosphere.  The 
moist  glitter  of  the  stars  filled  the  night,  too,  and, 
their  shafts  like  pure  rays  of  fire,  shot  through  limpid 
space. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  bell  rose  in  the  night.  It 
was  a  thin,  shrill  sound,  befitting  a  poor  country 
church-bell.  The  midnight  mass  began  at  Brochon. 
Nono  was  familiar  with  the  tinkle  of  this  old  bell- 
tower  standing  out  above  the  vines.  He  had  often 


134  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

enough  imitated  that  shrill,  distinct  tinkling.  And  sud- 
denly the  bell-tower  of  Gevrey  in  turn  awoke;  but 
soon  all  the  belfries  of  the  plain  and  of  La  Cote 
mingled  their  ringing  far  and  near.  Then,  when  the 
ringing  had  started  everywhere,  all  the  sounds  joined 
and  produced  one  continuous  peal,  a  tender  and  power- 
ful murmur  ^of  bronze  which  shook  the  solid  ground, 
and  moved  the  deep  night. 

Nono  is  thinking  of  his  forsaken  daughter,  of  the 
young  child  deprived  of  tenderness,  who  is  sleeping 
now,  guarded  by  eyes  that  are  all-powerful  and  un- 
known. .  .  .  And  in  the  heart  of  this  unhappy  man, 
a  sentiment  is  born  to  lift  him  above  nature  and 
death!  ...  Is  there  someone  who  is  the  master  of 
the  infinite  and  of  silence  .  .  .  whose  ears  hear  the 
imperceptible  murmur  of  every  conscience  here  below 
...  of  those  who  fall  ...  of  those  who  meekly  seek 
their  way? 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  following  morning  at  the  eleven  o'clock  meal, 
Nono  had  much  to  say  to  his  daughter:  "Darling! 
...  I  didn't  know  my  own  good-fortune.  ...  A 
companion  like  you  .  .  .  why,  what  can  be  better? 
My  little  friend,  my  pretty  darling  .  .  .  we're  going 
to  try  not  to  make  each  other  wretched.  .  .  .  Only, 
to  do  that  I  must  stop  drinking.  But  I've  some  good 
ideas  upon  that  head.  .  .  .  Do  you  know?  to-day  I'm 
going  to  help  you  clean  up,  and  then:  we'll  go  for  a 
walk  together." 

Just  as  they  were  about  to  leave,  it  occurred  to  Nono 
that  Laurette  was  badly  dressed.  They  looked  in  the 
wardrobe;  Nono  threw  about  some  pieces  of  bright- 
colored  cloth,  waists  and  ribbons.  .  .  .  And  from  all 
these  things  there  escaped  a  delicate  perfume,  a  scent 
of  lavender  and  faded  lace  .  .  .  and  something  still 
more  subtle.  ...  It  was  not  so  much  a  delicate  per- 
fume: it  was  a  reminiscence  that  remained  with  the 
things  and  in  the  air:  an  almost  palpable  reminiscence 
of  the  fingers  and  hands,  and  of  the  young  face  .  .  . 
and  of  his  former  love  .  .  .  and  of  days  gone  by. 

...  At  last  they  found  what  they  wanted:  a  long 
cape  with  a  hood  of  plaited  cloth.     Clad  in  this,  the 
child  had  the  smiling,  oldish  appearance  of  a  grand- 
US 


136  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

mother.  Her  father  put  on  an  air  of  great  gayety: 
"Oh !  ha !  ha !  .  .  .  Oh !  great  heavens !  .  .  .  What  an 
old  grandmother!  .  .  .  Oh!  .  .  .  there's  granny  Mi- 
taine!  ..." 

They  left  the  house,  and  descended  towards  the 
plain  along  the  Crais  Road.  That  was  the  road  that 
Nono  usually  followed.  On  this  narrow,  stony  path, 
which  ran  from  the  mountain  down  to  the  plain,  Nono, 
from  his  early  youth,  had  not  stopped  descending  and 
climbing,  going  and  coming  incessantly  to  the  work 
of  the  fields,  with  the  same  gait  mornings  and  even- 
ings. .  .  . 

Under  the  bright,  warm  sun,  Nono  and  his  daughter 
were  walking  along  slowly.  Nono  pointed  out  to 
Laurette  the  unpropped  vines,  some  still  covered  with 
the  autumn  green,  others  raked  up  by  the  crude  dig- 
ging of  winter,  which  tears  the  soil  up  in  big  clods. 

"Do  you  know,  little  one?  .  .  .  Well!  we'll  see  to 
it  in  spring,  believe  me!  The  vines  dressed  in  winter 
will  be  much  easier  to  dig.  .  .  .  They'll  have  the  soil 
fresh,  the  leaves  green  and  the  grapes  sound.  .  .  .  The 
others,  if  a  good  frost  doesn't  mellow  them,  will  re- 
quire mighty  hard  work.  .  .  .  And  no  matter  how 
madly  we  toil,  it'll  be  of  no  use;  there'll  be  wanting 
that  healthy  and  bright  air.  .  .  .  ' 

Laurette  raised  towards  her  father  her  thin,  happy 
face.  Beneath  her  black  hood,  one  could  see  her  little 
golden  forehead  and  the  cheekbones  that  the  cold  air 
brightened. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  137 

"Hey!  .  .  .  Little  one!  .  .  .  you're  happy  .  .  . 
eh?  ...  And  me!  ...  This  is  my  first  happy  mo- 
ment in  a  long  while  indeed!  .  .  .  Just  to  look  at 
your  pure  eyes  makes  me  happy.  They're  pure  enough 
to  plant  water-cress  in.  But  .  .  .  child!  .  .  .  that's 
only  a  way  of  talking.  ...  Ah !  but  look  at  the  beauti- 
ful fields !  .  .  .  That's  what  gives  more  pleasure  than 
everything  else !  .  .  .  ' 

They  had  gone  beyond  the  vineyards,  and  around 
them  there  was  now  a  stretch  of  fields  already  green. 
Everywhere  the  grain  was  springing  up  on  the  long 
and  narrow  bare  fields;  for  in  spite  of  the  December 
cold,  their  courageous  life  had  continued:  they  coped 
with  the  severe  winter. 

"Darling!  .  .  .  Doesn't  this  view  affect  you?  .  .  . 
As  for  me,  it's  my  great  pleasure.  .  .  .  ' 

When  they  had  reached  the  crossroads  leading  to 
the  Deux-Rentes,  the  father  and  daughter  stopped. 

"Perhaps  we've  gone  far  enough  ?  .  .  .  Aren't  your 
little  legs  tired?  ..." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Now  look  here,  can't  you  talk?  .  .  .  You  wasn't 
that  way  at  one  time,  eh?  ...  I  keep  on  talking  and 
you  never  say  a  word!  What's  the  matter?  Tell  me 
frankly:  your  father  handled  you  too  rough,  eh?  Don't 
be  afraid:  It's  no  more  the  big  brute  who's  with 
you." 

A  shadow  appeared  suddenly  and  covered  the  green 
fields  with  a  dull  hue.  In  the  middle  of  the  glade  lay 
Saint-Philibert  with  the  steeple  of  the  village  lifting 


138  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

in  the  center;  bare  stretches  of  land,  black  plowed 
fields,  and  green  wheat  fields,  rolled  up  on  all  sides. 
The  plain  was  filled  with  a  shapeless  mass  of  trees. 
The  melancholy  approaching  night  stole  over  those  dis- 
tant dead  masses. 

"Look!  Do  you  see,  little  one,  that  poor  belfry 
which  rises  above  the  woods,  hardly  bigger  than  a 
needle?  .  .  .It's  Epernay.  Your  great-grandfather, 
the  father  of  my  old  man,  came  from  there.  He 
worked  the  iron  of  those  forests.  .  .  .  There  are  still 
holes  under  all  those  thickets.  .  .  .  But  they  have  dis- 
appeared. .  .  .  Do  you  see  the  Broindon  Castle,  a 
little  farther?  It's  almost  hidden  by  the  mist.  .  .  . 
Little  one,  I  know  all  those  regions  like  the  palm  of 
my  hand.  Yonder,  in  the  mist,  above  the  ponds,  are 
the  Saulons;  and  very  far  off — but  it  can  hardly  be 
seen — that's  Noiron,  the  soil  is  very  good  there ;  then 
there's  Corcelles.  .  .  .  Tavonges,  where  I  went  to 
balls  and  ran  after  the  women.  .  .  .  And  then  still 
farther,  why,  that's  the  very  end  of  our  little  corner 
upon  earth ;  for  that's  the  real  forest  of  Citeaux.  .  .  . 
We'd  like  to  push  forward  there  anyhow;  we'd  reach, 
after  having  crossed  some  woods,  the  countrysides  of 
the  Saone,  where  there  are  meadows  and  large  water- 
ing-places. .  .  .  But  all  that  is  too  far  away;  it's  no 
longer  ours!" 

Beyond  the  forests,  there  rose  some  clouded  stretches 
of  land,  dim  barren  hills,  crowning  slopes  that  dis- 
appeared in  a  vague  dotted  line.  .  .  . 

"Well,  Laurette!  .  .  .  Here  is  one  of  my  great 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  139 

pleasures.  Ah !  here's  a  corner  I  like  to  look  at !  ... 
Believe  me,  Le  Pays-Bas  is  beautiful;  one's  happier 
here  than  on  La  Cote.  Here,  we've  cattle,  fields, 
forests  and  water.  I  like  it.  My  old  man  often  said 
to  me:  'Seek  your  friend  on  the  mountain!  .  .  . 
Plant  your  vines  on  La  Cote !  .  .  .  Build  your  house 
in  Le  Pays-Bas !  .  .  .  '  For  that's  the  country  of  our 
forefathers.  We've  relatives  in  all  these  villages. 
Even  as  far  as  Onges  and  Citeaux  there  ain't  a  village, 
where  smoke  can  be  seen,  where  there  ain't  people 
related  to  us.  ...  As  far  back  as  the  old  folks  can 
remember  there  were  Jacquelinets  in  the  glades  and 
forests  of  these  parts.  .  .  .  We're  from  here!  .  .  . 
My  old  man  often  took  me  for  a  walk  thereabouts 
where  you  see  the  night  coming.  ...  In  those  low- 
lands, where  the  fog  is  rising,  you  can't  walk  a  hundred 
paces  without  rinding  a  field  on  which  one  of  our 
forefathers  didn't  toil.  .  .  .  There  were  shepherds, 
cowherds,  woodmen,  charcoal-burners.  My  old  man 
knew  their  names  rather  far  back.  .  .  .  But  I've  for- 
gotten 'em!  .  .  .  Yet  look  here,  little  one!  .  .  .  that 
don't  stop  my  heart  from  being  with  'em  in  the  peace 
their  poor  souls  enjoy.  .  .  .  Ah!  they  deserve  well 
their  rest.  .  .  .  They've  toiled  hard,  if  the  proverb  has 
it  right:  'The  Jacquelinets  have  made  the  plain.'  That 
would  mean  it's  them  who've  dug  the  wells,  stocked 
the  ponds,  cut  the  forests  and  made  fields  out  of  thorn- 
bushes.  Everything  before  our  eyes  now  is  the  work 
of  their  hard  toil  and  courage.  They're  dead  now. 
The  dear  bones  are  at  rest.  .  But  it's  us  who're 


140  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

undergoing  the  test.  .  .  .  And  it's  mighty  hard  at  the 
present  hour !  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  sat  down  on  a  flat  stone  which  rilled  the  hol- 
low where  the  road  of  the  Deux-Rentes  crosses  that 
of  the  Crais.  ...  A  sudden  sadness  had  slid  deep 
into  his  heart.  .  .  .  He  recalled  having  passed  by  that 
very  crossing,  and  having  already  spoken  thus.  .  .  . 
It  was  on  that  glorious  day  when,  sitting  beside  his 
sweetheart,  his  lips  were  still  fresh  from  the  first  kisses. 
...  In  front  of  him  the  entire  Pays-Bas  was  in  full 
bloom,  and  like  the  vast  forests  and  sacred  naturer 
his  heart  was  overflowing  with  love. 

But  while  Nono  drooped  his  head  under  the  weight 
of  sorrow,  a  little  hand  softly  placed  itself  in  his  like 
a  bird  that  lies  down  in  its  nest.  Nono  awoke  from 
his  dream.  .  .  .  He  is  not  alone  in  the  gray  mist  of 
the  night:  there  is  someone  beside  him — exactly  as 
at  that  time — but  it's  no  longer  the  same  being.  .  .  . 
At  that  time,  the  being  was  taller,  darker,  more 
sprightly;  its  life  was  as  violent  as  that  of  a  young 
eagle.  .  .  .  But  now  it  is  a  child!  ...  It  is  a  little 
darling!  .  .  .  And  Nono  feels  spring  up  again  in  his 
withered  heart  a  sentiment  which  is  no  longer  like 
his  former  love,  but  which  is  something  more  reassur- 
ing and  more  tender.  .  .  . 

"Little  father!  ..."  murmured  Laurette. 

"My  child!  ..."  whispered  Nono. 

And  he  pressed  his  daughter  close  to  his  bosom. 

Nono's  good  resolutions  did  not  last  very  long,  how- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

eyer.  Indeed,  the  wretched  days  of  sadness  and  in- 
difference had  ended;  Nono  still  remained  a  gay  and 
loving  father  to  his  daughter;  but  he  continued  none 
the  less  to  get  drunk. 

"Oh!  that  don't  matter:  I  drink  only  grape  brandy 
and  good  wine;  no  more  absinth.  With  that  you  last 
a  long  time!  ...  It  makes  you  trot  a  bit  sideways, 
but  it  pushes  you  on  a  long  way  along  the  path  of 
life.  Perhaps  it'd  be  better  that  I  shouldn't  drink; 
but  there's  nothing  more  wretched  than  having  a  slop- 
ing throat,  and  mine  is  so  damned  steep  that  the  wine 
rushes  down  as  if  from  a  precipice!  .  .  .  ' 

At  night,  after  supper,  Nono  always  had  a  good 
pretext  for  going  out  to  gossip  and  drink  with  someone 
or  other.  On  coming  home,  if  the  little  girl  was  not 
yet  asleep,  he  would  indulge  in  long,  queer  speeches: 

"Ah!  Laurette!  I  was  happy  and  I  clinked  with  a 
merry  heart.  .  .  .  But  I  see  you  want  to  hand  me 
out  some  nonsense  .  .  .  tell  me  perhaps  that  all  that'll 
hardly  add  to  the  money  of  the  house.  .  .  .  But  what 
do  you  want?  I  must  live;  and  that's  how  things  are 
now!  .  .  .  Everything  is  dear;  besides,  I'm  lazy  and, 
to  make  things  worse,  I'm  a  drunkard!  .  .  .  What's 
to  be  done  ?  Ah !  in  bygone  days  the  winegrower  was 
more  thrifty.  With  his  few  rows  of  vines  and  his 
bit  of  field,  he  had  enough  of  everything:  wine,  corn 
and  vegetables.  He  owned  a  cow,  a  pig,  a  mule,  a 
goat  and  chickens  and  rabbits:  all  these  animals  were 
well  stabled  in  warm  sheds.  And  his  house  was  his 
own,  too.  It  was  a  little  hovel,  just  a  mere  nook; 


142  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

but  there  was  happiness  within  even  to  the  very 
shingles  of  the  roof.  They  never  bought  anything:  the 
animal  and  the  soil  yielded  all  that  was  necessary. 
Why,  not  so  long  ago,  some  twenty  years  or  so,  every 
winegrower  had  his  own  cow.  ...  In  the  morning, 
the  cowherd  drove  towards  the  mountain  a  herd  of 
forty  or  fifty  beasts.  In  the  evening,  the  cow  returned 
to  the  winegrower's  stable  and  yielded  whole  pots  of 
rich,  creamy  milk.  To-day,  we  buy  milk,  eggs,  bacon 
— everything.  The  housewife  of  to-day  would  em- 
broider rather  than  milk  a  cow.  And  she  needs  heaps 
of  things.  She  enters  a  shop  and  buys  a  mere  trifle: 
a  lady  wraps  it  up  in  tissue  paper  .  .  .  and  that's  five 
francs!  .  .  .  But  in  winter  you  often  don't  make  so 
much  in  a  week!  .  .  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

ONE  night,  Nono  was  brought  home  hopelessly 
drunk,  with  a  foot  out  of  joint.  Two  friends  were 
dragging  him  up  the  stairs:  below,  Grele  was  holding 
in  open  arms,  Nono's  legs ;  above,  Piemontais  was  pull- 
ing at  the  shoulders.  This  new  friend  of  Nono's  was 
a  little  fellow,  vehement  and  loud,  with  sandy  mus- 
tache. He  explained  with  exasperation  how  it  all 
happened,  while  little  Laurette,  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  was  holding  a  lamp  in  hand  and  sobbing: 

"Don't  yell  at  us  little  one !  .  .  .  Nono  didn't  drink. 
.  .  .  He's  overcome  with  fear.  He  wagered  to  fight 
with  a  bear  at  a  fair.  The  owner  was  willing:  he  let 
the  bear  loose ;  but  the  bear  .  .  .  no.  She  was  fright- 
ened and  hid  under  the  tables  of  the  cafe.  But  Nono 
also  had  his  share  of  fright.  When  the  beast  was 
unchained,  he  didn't  say  a  word,  but  his  snout  was 
more  terrifying  than  the  bear's.  And  then  the  wine 
went  to  his  head,  and  on  his  way  home  he  tumbled 
down  the  cellar  and  sprained  his  foot.  It's  the  bear's 
fault,  the  dirty  beast!  .  .  .  Damned  monster!  .  .  .  " 

They  put  Nono  as  well  as  might  be  in  the  big  bed 
of  the  room.  Nono  let  them  do  with  him  as  they 
pleased,  dropping  his  head  at  every  movement,  as  inert 
as  a  bundle.  He  only  half  got  up  to  wipe,  very 

143 


144  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

unconcernedly,  his  long  filthy  nose  on  Piemontais' 
hand.  The  latter  cried:  "You  dirty  Prussian!  .  .  . 
Now  he's  blowing  his  nose  on  my  hand !  .  .  .  ' 

Nono's  accident  was  not  serious;  but  his  drunken- 
ness hit  him  hard.  Only  after  two  days  of  rest  did 
he  regain  his  normal  state;  then  his  eyes  were  once 
more  awake,  fresh  and  gay.  For  several  days  every- 
thing surprised  him;  he  seemed  to  have  come  from 
an  artless  world.  He  looked  smilingly  at  his  daughter 
who  busied  herself  with  the  housework;  her  naive 
activity  was  such  that  Nono  had  enough  to  follow  and 
love  her  steps  and  gestures.  He  did  not  cease  con- 
templating the  brisk  little  girl,  admiring  her  neat  work, 
which  finally  made  the  modest  house  look  pleasant  and 
comfortable. 

Ah!  she  was  a  true  daughter  of  this  Cote  d'Or! 
.  .  .  What  a  light  and  marvelous  land,  what  a  rose- 
colored,  sunny  soil,  where  from  the  feminine  race  has 
sprung  with  the  fine,  vibrant  elegance  of  the  shapely 
vine!  .  .  .  Those  sprightly  women  .  .  .  they  are  the 
soul  of  the  winegrower's  house!  .  .  .  They  are  the 
spirit  of  order  and  life  in  this  countryside !  .  .  .  They 
are  the  salvation  of  these  soulless  regions,  where  man 
is  gradually  returning  to  the  grim  darkness  of  the 
barbarous  ages. 

But  they,  too,  must  find  their  duty  at  home.  They 
must  make  the  home  bright  and  clean,  so  that  even 
the  dead  walls  will  beam  with  grace  and  happiness. 
.  .  .  Only  then  does  their  loving,  active,  agile  life  be- 
come really  significant. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  145 

Nono's  smile  gradually  disappeared,  however.  A 
grim  sadness  came  upon  him  slowly,  and  spread  over 
his  heart  like  a  great  darkness  which  spreads  over 
the  sky.  No  one  could  have  divined  exactly  what 
thoughts  arose  in  the  sacred  life  of  his  soul,  behind 
those  little,  pensive  eyes;  but  one  night,  when  little 
Laurette  had  gone  to  bed  early,  Nono  limped  over 
to  his  neighbor,  Catherine,  and  told  her  of  his  sorrows. 

The  fat  woman,  sitting  near  her  fireplace,  wore 
merely  an  underjacket.  She  displayed  unconcernedly 
her  large  red  neck  and  her  powerful,  ruddy  chest. 

"...  Ah!  my  poor  fellow!"  said  she,  "you  can 
truly  say  you've  a  good  daughter!  ...  If  it's  only 
for  that,  if  it's  only  for  having  given  you  that  little 
one  .  .  .  you  ought  to  bless  your  wife!  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  .  .  .  bless!"  replied  Nono  placidly,  "that's 
asking  too  much.  Let's  leave  that  to  the  priests.  It's 
their  business  to  dig  in  the  air.  And  every  time  they 
raise  their  paws  in  the  air — it's  five  francs !  They  get 
something  for  it!  I  have  to  pay.  Let  others  bless 
my  wife!  .  .  . 

"But  that's  not  the  question,  Catherine.  .  .  .  These 
three  weeks  that  I'm  unable  to  go  out  I've  seen  things ! 
.  .  .  I've  watched  the  little  martyr  at  every  moment 
of  the  day!  She's  only  as  big  as  a  shovel  and  she's 
already  dying  of  misery!  She's  frail  and  delicate  as 
a  leaf,  and  she's  constantly  hopping  about  on  her  little 
legs !  .  .  .  And  she  fills  me  up  with  grub  till  my  belly 
is  full,  and  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  sleep.  .  .  .  How 
can  that  little  being  stand  it  all?  And  this  has  been 


146  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

going  on  for  more  than  a  year !  Ever  since  there's  no 
mother  in  the  house,  the  beds  have  been  made  and 
the  meals  ready  for  me.  And  I  never  wondered  who's 
doing  it  all.  .  .  .  And  where  does  she  get  all  those 
delicacies?  Catherine,  there  are  days  when  there's 
chicken,  eggs  and  cream ;  not  a  day  passes  by  without 
a  bit  of  fresh  meat!  .  .  .  Where  does  it  all  come 
from?  Who  pays  for  it?  ...  The  money  of  the 
house?  .  .  .  The  savings  I  put  at  the  bottom  of  beer 
mugs  and  wine  jugs?  .  .  . 

"Ah !  the  poor  little  one  thinks  I  can't  guess  it,  when 
she  makes  up  an  excuse  to  go  out.  .  .  .  She  says  she's 
going  to  church,  for  a  walk,  or  to  your  house.  .  .  . 
Poor  child!  .  .  .  I'm  sure  she  goes  out  to  do  little 
jobs,  don't  she?  Ah!  look  at  her:  she's  only  that 
high,  and  she  only  has  skin  and  bones!  .  .  .  That's 
what  I've  been  doing  while  I  was  blinded  by  my  sor- 
row! .  .  .  This  little  martyr  who  was  feeding  me 
.  .  .  who  still  trembled  in  my  presence  three  weeks 
ago  .  .  .  that's  my  daughter,  my  Laurette,  my  little 
blonde  darling!  .  .  .  ' 

"Look  here,  Nono!  Don't  let  yourself  go  in  that 
way!  Yes,  I  know:  your  heart's  been  burdened  for 
a  long  time  with  bitter  sorrow !  .  .  .  ' 

"You  can  well  say  so,  Catherine:  it's  bitter  sorrow." 

"These  tears  had  to  come;  they've  been  kept  back 
a  long  time — since  Nenette  left,  eh?" 

"Yes,  you're  right.  .  .  .  Oh!  I  wasn't  made  for 
such  an  affliction!  .  .  .  With  one  blow  I  was  robbed 
of  my  only  hope,  my  only  love  in  the  world !  .  .  .  And 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  147 

that  left  me  a  degraded  man!  .  .  .  And  I  still  suffer 
from  it  every  moment  of  the  day !  Ah !  shame  is  some- 
thing that  can  be  eaten  cold,  and  which  never  satisfies 
hunger.  .  .  .  When  once  you're  put  to  this  bitter  food, 
you  must  eat  of  it  constantly,  till  your  teeth  are  used 
up  and  you  croak !  .  .  . 

"Oh !  Catherine !  It  hasn't  killed  me,  but  it's  done 
worse !  .  .  .  You'll  say  I  should've  remained  erect  and 
faced  it  like  a  man.  But  what  can  you  do  when  you're 
felled?  .  .  .  I've  crouched  down  like  a  coward.  .  .  . 
I've  turned  to  drink;  I've  become  the  butt  of  the 
village.  .  .  .  That's  bereft  me  of  all:  my  spirit,  my 
ideas,  my  love,  and  of  the  little  common  sense  of  a 
winegrower  I  had.  And  yet,  Catherine,  don't  you  think 
it's  partly  my  fault?" 

"Ah!  what  misery!  the  poor  unhappy  child!, .  .  .  ' 

"But  what  do  you  think?  It's  not  the  daughter; 
I'm  talking  of  the  mother.  ..." 

"I  know.     I  know." 

"Well,  do  you  pity  her?     You're  perhaps  right. 
» 

Nono  said  no  more.  Both  neighbors  were  looking 
in  silence  at  the  red  flames  of  the  fireplace.  They  were 
reflecting  without  saying  a  word.  At  last,  Nono  spoke 
in  that  sharp,  brisk  tone  with  which  he  dissimulated 
his  sorrow. 

"Catherine,  there  are  days  when  I  pity  her  too.  It's 
stupid,  but  it's  true.  .  .  .  That  creature  destroyed  my 
life.  She  brought  upon  me  ruin,  despair  .  .  .  worse 
than  fire  and  death!  Well,  think  as  you  like;  but  I 


148  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

don't  curse  her;  at  least  not  enough;  not  as  I  ought 
to  if  I  had  a  bit  of  courage!  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh !  poor  children !  I  saw  you  both  very  unhappy ! 
» 

"What  did  you  see?  ...  Tell  me?  ..." 

"Oh!  What  shall  I  say?  .  .  .  Oh!  the  poor  victim! 
M 

"The  poor  victim,  you  say?  And  what  about  me! 
What  am  I  if  that  harlot  is  a  victim?  .  .  .  ' 

"Come,  Nono !  don't  use  such  words !  .  .  .  Besides, 
you're  saying  it  against  your  will.  Don't  be  afraid  of 
being  a  good  Christian,  for  we're  alone  and  nobody 

will  laugh.    And  she  .  .  .  she's  perhaps  dead  by  now. 
»> 

"Ah!  that's  possible.  ...  By  heavens!  perhaps 
she's  indeed  dead.  .  .  .  And  we're  talking  of  her  as 
of  a  being  alive  and  brisk;  perhaps  she  ain't  more 
than  a  poor  buried  creature!  .  .  .  And  we  want  her 
to  square  accounts!  Anyhow,  it  ain't  my  fault." 

"Ah!  If  she  had  been  let  alone,  she  wouldn't  have 
left  on  her  own  account.  But  she  had  no  peace !  You 
should've  defended  her,  my  friend,  not  thrust  her 
aside;  kept  her  near  you  without  being  rough.  .  .  . 
And  then  you  should've  seen  things  clearly!  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  I  see  what  you  mean.  .  .  .  It's  my  stupidity 
that  forced  her  to  leave.  ...  I  didn't  know  of  her 
doings.  I  was  the  idiot  a  woman  leaves;  the  cuckold 
who's  so  thick  that  a  woman  don't  even  care  to  be 
unfaithful  to  him.  .  .  . 

"Go  on!  ain't  that  so?" 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIU  149 

"I  didn't  say  so." 

"You  didn't  say  so;  but  you  thought  so.  Oh!  I 
know  it,  believe  me !  .  .  .  The  entire  village  talks  like 
that,  and  you  can't  get  one  over  on  me !  .  .  .  But  look 
here,  Catherine !  .  .  .  Do  you  see  the  bright  flames  of 
the  fire,  there,  in  front  of  us?  Well,  as  certain  as 
we're  here  alone  in  the  night,  so  certain  is  it  that  I 
had  of  my  wife,  of  her  sins,  of  that  fate  which  was 
hanging  over  both  of  us,  a  knowledge  as  clear  as  this 
rising  flame!  ...  I  thought  my  heart  would  break! 
.  .  .  I've  borne  on  my  shoulders  a  heavy  cross  of 
misery.  The  unfortunate  can  raise  their  cross  so  that 
people  can  see  and  help  'em ;  but  I  bore  it  hidden  away 
on  my  naked  skin !  .  .  .  I've  played  the  fool  while  my 
heart  was  bleeding  quietly  like  a  broken  fountain 
which  loses  its  water.  .  .  .  Ah!  my  love  was  like  a 
poisoned  water,  a  water  almost  more  cursed  than  that 
of  the  spring  of  Ensonge  which  drips  dry  on  the 
height  of  our  cemetery  and  waters  our  dead!  .  .  . 
Look  at  me,  Catherine!  You  never  saw  me  so.  Look 
at  these  trembling  hands.  .  .  . 

"I  said  to  myself:  'If  I  look  as  if  I  know  the  truth, 
I  must  do  one  of  two  things:  kick  her  out  or  leave. 
But  one  is  like  the  other;  I'd  lose  all  my  happiness 
upon  earth.  I  can't  do  it.'  You  understand:  I  didn't 
want  to  pass  for  a  man  without  honor ;  nor  did  I  want 
to  lose  the  terrible  happiness  of  having  her  near  my 
eyes  .  .  .  not  far  from  my  heart.  .  .  .  Since  I 
couldn't  be  stronger,  or  a.  coward,  I  had  to  play  the 
fool,  the  idiot  who, sees  nothing,  who  has  sand  in 


150  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

his  eyes.  .  .  .  And  how  I  acted  my  part !  That  woman 
scorned  me  all  the  more!  'Blockhead!'  she  called  me 
when  she  left.  She  didn't  see  clearly  into  my  soul. 
.  .  .  She  left  with  bitter  contempt  for  me.  Did  I 
really  deserve  it?  ... 

"Never,  upon  earth,  will  the  being  I  loved  tell  me 
the  truth  which  will  raise  my  spirits  a  bit.  She'll  ever 
see  me  such  as  I  seemed  to  her,  a  very  low  creature ! 
.  .  .  And  yet,  it  wasn't  through  taste  and  nature  that 
I  had  sunk  so  low ;  but  I  remained  there  with  indigna- 
tion, out  of  pure  sacrifice,  with  a  shuddering  heart! 
.  .  .  Ah  yes !  I  might' ve  done  something  else ;  but  for 
that  I  would  have  had  to  be  young  with  the  spirit 
and  grace  of  a  happy  lover,  and  I  was  but  a  poor 
winegrower  wornout  with  work.  .  .  .  The  last  morn- 
ing, on  waking  up,  I  found  that  same  Nenette  kneeling 
at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  Her  face  was  pale,  as  if 
covered  with  the  dust  of  the  earth  and  the  ashes  of 
penitence.  She  raised  towards  me  her  dark,  tender 
eyes.  And  what've  I  done :  I  threw  the  sheet  over  her ! 
.  .  .  Well,  I've  thrown  the  shroud  over  a  corpse !  .  .  . 

"What  can  you  expect?  .  .  .  The  heart- felt  words 
of  despair  hadn't  come!  And  then,  I  soon  saw  that 
I  was  alone  in  this  world.  Everybody  jeered  at  me. 
I  became,  then,  a  wretched  beast  and  a  vile  drunkard : 
you  mustn't  blame  me  for  it!  ...  You're  crying, 
Catherine !  .  .  .  You  mustn't  cry ;  at  least,  not  on  my 
account.  .  .  .  But  where  is  she  .  .  .  she  ...  the 
poor  child  as  you  said  a  while  ago?  .  .  . 

"Ah!  the  unhappy  woman!    What  have  the  men 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  151 

made  of  her?  Oh!  those*  blackguards!  .  .  .  They 
haven't  done  her  much  good !  A  man  don't  look  wicked 
perhaps ;  but  he's  rotten  to*  the  core.  He  jokes  and 
laughs  with  you;  he  clinks  with  you  in  the  cafe;  he 
becomes  big-hearted,  tender  and  a  good  fellow.  .  .  . 
And  behind  all  that  gentleness  and  gayety,  there's  a 
being  that's  worse  than  a  jackal,  who  would  devour 
the  dead  if  they  were  good  to  eat  and  not  full  of 
earth!  .  .  . 

"Ah!  when  he  looks  about  him,  it  ain't  a  road  or 
light  he's- seeking ;  but,  trembling  with  rage,  he's  seek- 
ing a  helpless  victim  to  attack.  However,  he's  often 
afraid  and  dares  not;  then,  he  crouches  in  a  cowardly 
little  corner  and  rages  with  envy,  or  else  he  revenges 
himself  with  his  sneering  mockery.  .  .  .  Seemingly, 
he's  the  king  of  good  fellows;  but  he's  a  coward  who 
secretly  never  stops  hating.  His  soul  is  full  of 
murders  impossible  to  commit,  thefts  too  difficult  to 
carry  out,  inward  hatred  and  powerless  evil.  .  .  .  His 
heart,  his  love  and  his  faith  are  all  full  of  this  gall, 
venom  and  rancor!  .  .  .  Catherine!  .  .  .  They've 
carried  off  my  helpmate!  .  .  .  But  where?  .  .  .  ' 

"There's  no  news,  my  poor  fellow." 

"None  at  all?" 

"No." 

"And  yet  Renardin  had  written  here.  ..." 

"About  eight  months  ago  he  wrote;  but  it  was  to 
sell  his  property." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

•"And  now  that  everything  is  sold,  what's  left  of 


152  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

his  money?   Undoubtedly  nothing.    Besides,  when  he 
left  everything  was   already   mortgaged   and   spent. 

n 

•   •   • 

"Ah!  the  money  is  nothing.  .  .  .  But  what  did  he 
do  with  her  ?  Look  here !  I'll  tell  you  something,  but 
don't  laugh.  ...  I  think  she's  thinking  of  us.  ... 
Do  you  know,  Catherine?  I'm  sure  her  gaze  cuts 
through  the  dark  night  and  comes  towards  us,  towards 
this  house  beneath  the  spreading  vines,  towards  this 
stone  bench  under  the  rose-bush.  .  .  .  There's  where 
we  loved  so  tenderly  in  the  evening.  Her  arm  was 
around  my  neck,  her  little  hand  held  on  to  my  coat; 
and  I  pressed  her  against  my  bosom,  caressing  her 
gently  like  a  little  bird.  .  .  .  She  was  such  a  little 
darling  ...  so  frail  in  everything!  ...  I  felt  her 
tremble  over  a  trifle.  .  .  .  And  now,  at  this  very  mo- 
ment, the  little  one  is  perhaps  alone  amidst  the  terrors 
of  this  world!  .  .  .  Her  young  terrified  heart  is  per- 
haps ever  trembling.  .  .  .  Oh !  what  misery ! 

"...  But  if  some  good  idea  should  strike  her! 
.  .  .  that  she  should  come!  .  .  .  Let  her  come  back 
quickly!  ...  If  the  little  one  and  me,  on  coming 
home,  should  find  her  one  evening  sitting  on  the  bench 
under  the  rose-bush!  .  .  .  Well,  we  surely  wouldn't 
leave  her  there.  ,  .  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

FROM  that  time  forward  a  truly  pleasant  and  peace- 
ful life  began  once  more  for  them.  The  father  and 
child  agreed  not  to  leave  each  other  any  more.  In 
the  morning,  Nono  went  to  his  vines,  while  the  little 
one  did  her  housework.  In  the  afternoon,  they  walked 
down  together  towards  the  fields  of  the  plain  and  the 
little  garden  of  the  Marais.  Most  of  the  good  folks 
of  the  country  were  glad  to  see.  the  long,  light,  flat 
cart  pass  by,  going  along  slowly  on  the  road  of  the 
Crais  across  the  vines,  where  Nono  and  his  daughter, 
sitting  near  each  other  like  an  old  peaceful  couple, 
smiled  to  all  comers  and  looked  at  everything.  Around 
them  was  now  spring  with  its  gay  awaking  of  the 
early  bees,  or  autumn  with  its  dim  sky  and  last  crimson 
beauties  of  the  year.  Even  winter  had  a  charm  with 
its  roads  reddened  by  a  cold  sun.  .  .  . 

Sitting  next  to  each  other,  the  father  and  child 
savored  the  very  delight  of  living.  And  it  seemed  to 
Nono  that  he  had  never  really  loved.  Near  the  child 
with  her  soul  still  uncontaminated,  the  soul  of  Nono 
regained  its  artlessness,  its  nai've  and  great-hearted 
kindness.  By  dint  of  talking  to  each  other,  they  finally 
came  to  understand  tilings  in  the  same  manner,  as  if 
they  were  of  the  same  age.  They  spoke  the  same 

153 


154  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

language,  using  simple,  wholesome  words,  simple  and 
wholesome  like  the  grass  of  the  fields.  But  under- 
neath these  insufficient  words,  there  vibrated  the  limpid 
and  eternal  sentiments,  which  are  the  air  and  sky  to 
the  souls  of  beings. 

In  the  Marais,  while  her  father  was  tilling  the  soil, 
Laurette  gathered  food  for  the  rabbits;  or  she  picked 
fresh  vegetables,  shelled  the  peas,  or  dried  the  beans. 
Often,  too,  she  would  sit  on  the  side  of  the  ditch  or 
on  the  flat  part  of  the  cart  and  read  her  school  books. 
When  Nono  was  tired  he  would  come  and  sit  down 
beside  her ;  and  then  she  would  read  aloud.  The  read- 
ing being  over,  Nono  would  make  the  following 
reflections: 

"Well,  my  Laurette,  is  your  story  finished?  .  .  . 
It's  a  little  sad ;  but  there's  a  reason.  And  this  sadness 
quite  agrees  with  us.  ...  While  listening  to  you,  my 
child,  I  thought  of  many  things ;  and  now  I  feel  better 
than  ever  I  did.  I  said  to  myself'  The  universe  with 
its  countries  and  peoples  is  as  peaceful  as  this  glade 
of  the  Marais  and  the  eyes  of  my  good  child.'  But 
that's  a  comparison  taken  from  on  high  with  the  dar- 
ing eyes  of  charity:  For  it's  of  no  avail  to  take  a 
close  view.  It's  like  this  village  of  Gevrey !  .  .  .  Look 
at  it,  yonder,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  lying  among  the 
vines,  below  the  brushwood  and  the  forest,  with  all 
its  chimneys  inclining!  .  .  .  You'd  imagine  on  seeing 
it  from  afar,  a  pure  nook  of  nature  where  men  dwell 
tenderly  in  peace.  Well !  you  only  have  to  poke  your 


NONO    LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  155 

nose  into  that  dwelling  and  that  peace,  and  you're  bit- 
ten worse  than  in  a  nest  of  hornets!  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah !  Papa !  .  .  .  "  said  the  child  wtih  a  shy  smile. 
"Did  my  story  teach  you  this  fine  lesson?  .  .  .  Well, 
teach  me  something  in  turn!  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  my  child!  .  .  .  Look  here!  I'm  going  to 
teach  you  a  very  good  thing.  There's  something  fine 
in  the  air,  my  little  girl.  Do  you  see  the  little  green 
buds  which  are  opening  on  the  branches  of  this  hazel 
tree?  Do  you  see  the  little  yellow  pussies  that  are 
hanging  from  the  branches  of  the  willow?  Do  you 
see  yonder  the  beautiful  chestnut  color  of  the  woods? 
The  leaves  ain't  far  off ;  spring  is  coming." 

"Spring?  .  .  .  Papa!  ..." 

"Oh !  You  can't  think  otherwise.  No  matter  who'd 
feel  this  west  wind  coming  from  the  mountain,  light 
as  a  slow  friendly  step,  no  matter  who'd  feel  it  would 
say:  'Tis  the  lovely  season  that's  coming!  .  .  .  '" 

At  times  Nono  can  hardly  hear,  but  a  beloved  voice 
aids  his  gaze  and  soothes  his  dream.  .  .  .  His  eyes 
are  fixed  in  front  of  him;  he  perceives  those  forests, 
gloomy  in  the  deep  silence,  the  pensive  depths  of  the 
horizon,  the  last  gray  stubble,  the  dark  plowed  lands, 
the  glossy  plains  where  the  green  corn  glitters,  and 
afar  off  the  peaceful  undulating  hills  beneath  the 
clouded  sky  of  March.  .  .  .  To  the  west,  he  perceives 
the  mountain,  cutting  through  the  sky  from  north  to 
south,  setting  up  along  the  west  its  rugged  wall  whence 
unfolds,  from  the  sky  to  the  plain,  the  old  winding 


156  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

roads  upon  which  men  journey.  And  Nono  lets  his 
soul  wander  on  the  road  where  man  wends  his  way, 
in  the  distance,  farther  than  the  poplars  aligned  along 
the  Mansouse,  farther  than  the  silvery  willows  of 
Boise.  .  .  .  And  Nono's  love  burgeons  like  the  wide 
expanse  where  beings  breathe,  and  where  life  quivers. 

"Little  one!  .  .  .  The  world  is  large!  .  .  .  My  old 
man  who  had  been  in  Africa  hadn't  seen  all  yet." 
"Africa?  .  .  .  Did  grandfather  see  Africa?" 
"Little  one,  he  went  through  the  whole  of  Africa 
pursuing  the  Kabyls.  'I've  found  nothing  worth  speak- 
ing about/  he'd  say.     And  he  was  right;  for  indeed 
there  ain't  a  country  without  good  people  and  fertile 
land  about  'em." 

"Father,  where's  the  good  land  here?" 
"My  child,  it's  difficult  to  say.  If,  by  good  land 
you  mean  the  yielding  of  vegetables,  corn  or  fodder, 
no  land  is  better  than  Le  Pays-Bas;  but  La  Cote  is 
the  true  ornament  of  France !  It  alone  has  really  the 
right  to  the  vine;  for  the  vine  don't  agree  with  every 
soil.  In  the  land  of  the  mountaineer,  you  must  be 
as  cunning  as  he  to  have  dared  to  use  the  vine.  But 
you'll  say  that  Le  Pays-Bas  plants  even  between  its 
ponds.  ...  Ah !  it's  base !  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  papa,  are  you  glad  to  be  a  winegrower? 

» 

"Ah!  little  one!  .  .  .  There's  much  to  say  on  that 
matter.  On  the  Cote,  the  land  is  good,  but  life  ain't 
worth  much,  and  winegrowing  ain't  worth  nothing  at 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  157. 

all.  First  of  all,  the  work  ain't  honest:  it's  wild  and 
brutal.  And  then  the  vine  is  nervous.  Ah!  it  ain't 
got  the  good- will  nor  the  submission  of  good  land. 
.  .  .  The  vine  blooms  there  where  it  pleases,  very 
often  crosswise,  and  yields  fruit  also  when  it  likes! 
It  freezes  for  no  reason  at  all ;  and  dies  without  any- 
one knowing  why!  If  it's  smoked,  it's  burnt!  If  you 
don't  smoke  it,  it  gets  the  green  sickness!  Dress  it 
two  days  too  late,  and  the  day's  gone  by  for  this 
headstrong  vine!  Three  days  of  too  much  rain,  and 
the  wine  has  a  foul  taste!  Three  days  too  little,  and 
the  taste  is  dry !  The  wretched  thing  even  has  luxuri- 
ous diseases.  It  has  a  worse  collection  than  a  good 
hospital.  ...  If  it'd  only  be  gone  in  a  decent  way, 
and  frankly,  we'd  be  through  with  it !  we'd  plant  wheat 
and  raise  cattle!  .  .  .  But  no!  ...  It  must  ruin  us 
first !  Ah !  it's  knavish ! 

'  .  .  .  And  we  winegrowers,  just  see  how  we  live 
in  hovels!  .  .  .  And  the  owners  of  the  vineyards 
shout :  'Dig  ditches.  .  .  .  '  But  there's  more  certainty 

in  the  fields.     The  work  is  agreeable  and  peaceful. 
» 

"Papa!  ..."  asked  Laurette,  "when  are  we  going 
to  see  the  mountains?  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  that's  right!  my  Laurette!  .  .  .  There's  a 
mountaineer  to  whom  we  must  pay  a  visit.  I'll  take 
you  there  some  day,  with  the  mule  and  cart.  Once 
we  pass  the  rocks,  you'll  see  a  fine  country,  somewhat 
rugged.  .  .  .  But  we've  been  gossiping  for  more  than 


158  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

an  hour.    That's  what  you  really  call  resting  at  four 
o'clock." 

"Nono,"  said  Catherine,  one  day,  "now  your 
Laurette  will  soon  be  fourteen.  .  .  .  Aren't  you  think- 
ing of  having  her  learn  some  trade?" 

"Ah!"  replied  Nono,  scratching  his  head  with  his 
cap.  "Ah!  you're  quite  right!  .  .  .  I'm  thinking  of 
it.  ...  I  often  say  to  myself  that  she's  too  frail  to 
struggle  with  the  soil,  for  the  soil  wears  a  person 
out  pretty  quickly.  Meantime,  I  let  things  go,  because 
her  company  gives  me  new  courage  and  I  find  every- 
thing good  and  beautiful  upon  earth.  .  .  .  But  that 
won't  make  her  earn  her  bread.  You're  right!  She's 
too  delicate  to  till  the  soil.  .  .  .  But  she  must  have 
some  trade.  Now  what  is  she  going  to  say  about 
the  matter?" 

"Indeed,  it's  she  who  spoke  to  me  of  it.  She  knows 
she  must  have  a  trade,  but  she  didn't  dare  to  talk  to 
you  about  it.  She  has  some  notion:  she  has  a  liking 
for  sewing.  .  .  .  ' 

"Well,  she'll  indeed  make  a  good  dressmaker!  But 
you  arrange  it  with  her,  because  it's  out  of  my  line. 
I  can  drive  the  mule,  bring  provisions,  handle  the  vats. 
.  .  .  As  to  the  affairs  of  women,  I  hardly  know  any- 
thing about  'em." 

The  apprenticeship  of  Laurette  lasted  three  years. 
After  this  she  found  that  she  was  a  grown-up  young 
lady.  Her  years  had  not  passed  in  vain;  she  was  in 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  159 

full  bloom,  as  lovely  as  a  lily.  In  the  afternoon,  when 
her  housework  was  done  and  when  the  young  girls 
had  dressed  up,  she  would  walk  through  the  streets 
clad  in  a  gray  skirt  with  two  flounces,  an  apron  with 
embroidered  flowers,  a  white  waist  and  a  velvet  bow 
in  her  hair.  She  takes  big  steps  and  feels  embarrassed 
and  coquettish.  At  times,  with  a  decided  and  haughty 
movement  she  raises  her  thin  face  with  its  pensive 
bold  eyes ;  at  other  times,  having  become  timid  again, 
she  lowers  her  head  sideways  and  seems  to  watch  her 
deliberate  steps.  .  .  .  But  she  is  very  delicate.  .  .  . 
Her  heavy  blond  hair,  apparently,  is  the  only  thing 
about  her  that  shows  vigor.  She  is  annoyed  when 
people  look  at  her;  her  head  turns  away  with  nervous 
grace.  .  .  .  Her  bright,  sharp  face,  whose  cheeks  are 
like  wild  little  apples,  seems  ever  ready  to  flee.  .  .  . 
But  each  one  who  gazes  on  these  modest  eyebrows, 
this  charming  round  forehead  and  these  blue  eyes, 
divines  the  soul  of  the  maiden  singing  like  a  rippling 
spring — a  spring  that  is  pure,  without  sand  or  cress, 
warbling  like  a  bird — the  mirror  of  the  light  and  love 
of  a  wide  sky!  .  .  . 

Sometimes,  however,  when  at  home,  sitting  near  the 
window,  Laurette  stops  sewing.  .  .  .  She  bends  her 
slender  body;  she  droops  her  beautiful  blond  head; 
her  soft  eyes  open  wide  and  gaze  on  nothing,  and  seem 
to  reach  to  some  unknown  region.  .  .  .  Like  a  peasant 
woman,  but  gracefully,  Laurette  rests  her  closed, 
veined  hands  on  her  patent-leather  belt.  Thus  bent 
and  attentive,  one  would  say  that  she  is  listening  to 


160  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

some  call — the  strange  and  soft  call  of  an  unknown 
voice !  ...  It  is  then  that,  like  an  unworthy  passer-by 
who  defiles  the  spring  where  the  birds  drank,  love — 
and  artless  love,  shattered  by  iniquity  and  falsehood, 
comes  to  thrust  its  poison  into  the  loyal  destiny. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  GLOOM  has  spread  over  Nono's  house.  .  .  .  Since 
the  end  of  July,  he  has  not  seen  his  daughter  smile. 
In  vain  would  he  at  times  say  to  her: 

"My  child!  .  .  .  my  dear  child!  I  don't  want  to 
know  your  secret.  .  .  .  No,  my  little  darling!  ...  If 
someone  is  forsaking  you,  let  him  do  it:  your  father 
will  never  forsake  you!  .  .  .  ' 

To  that  plea,  as  to  every  other  one,  Laurette  makes 
no  reply.  Her  look  is  gloomy.  The  pale  little  face 
terrifies  the  father,  and  he  remains  speechless.  .  .  . 
He  is  waiting  for  the  hour  to  come  when  she  will 
speak  comforting  words  that  pardon  and  soothe. 

.  .  .  And  now  the  grapes-gathering  is  over,  and 
the  grapes  are  already  in  the  vats.  .  .  .  The  wine 
press  is  in  Nono's  yard,  and  the  winegrowers  must 
have  their  habitual  feast:  the  indispensable  jugged 
rabbit,  the  roast  leg  of  mutton  and  the  raw  sausage. 
"Let's  take  good  care  of  our  folks,"  said  Nono.  "A 
peasant's  saffron-cake  is  no  feast  for  a  gamekeeper!" 

Laurette  is  also  doing  her  share.  In  order  to  be 
able  to  help  at  the  wine  press,  she  has  installed  her 
kitchen  in  a  simple,  small  room  in  the  yard,  which, 
in  spite  of  its  window  and  shutters,  is  only  used  as  a 
general  storeroom. 

The  stamping  in  the  vats  has  filled  already  two- 

161 


162  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

thirds  of  the  casks;  the  wine-press  will  furnish  the 
pressed  wine.  It  is  an  old,  heavy  apparatus  with  a 
horizontal  screw  which  lengthens  or  shortens  the  frame 
according  to  the  amount  of  grapes  to  be  pressed.  Nono 
did  not  have  a  great  quantity ;  his  vines  hardly  yielded 
six  large  casks;  he,  therefore,  needed  comparatively 
little  help.  It  is  customary,  however,  for  neighbors 
to  assist  one  another ;  and  it  often  happens  that  friends 
at  odds  forget  their  differences  and  join  in  the  vintage 
festival.  Flon-Flon,  Briquet  and  Flammeche  did  not 
fail,  in  consequence,  to  make  their  appearance.  The 
past  few  years  have  made  Flon-Flon  still  more  flushed 
and  stout;  Briquet,  on  the  other  hand,  has  become 
darker  and  more  withered. 

"Come  now,  friends !  .  .  .  the  place  is  ready :  bring 
the  planks !"  cries  Nono,  standing  in  the  frame,  among 
the  boards  red  like  those  of  a  guillotine.  In  order  not 
to  delay  the  going  and  coming  of  the  men,  Laurette 
takes  the  planks  and  hands  them  to  her  father.  Nono 
takes  them  and  places  them  so  as  to  level  the  mass  of 
grapes  and  stems  which  is  rising  under  his  feet.  But 
now  and  then  Nono  is  somewhat  late,  and  Laurette, 
waiting  for  her  father  to  take  the  plank  from  her 
hands,  remains  holding  it  in  the  air.  The  frail  young 
girl  bends  under  the  weight;  her  raised  arms  make 
her  waist  rise  beneath  the  arm-pits. 

On  seeing  this  young  body  bending  backwards,  thus 
displaying  its  full  grace,  a  vulgar  notion  crosses  Flon- 
Flon's  mind.  .  .  .  "Flon-Flon!  ...  not  a  bad  fel- 
low," people  say,  "but  a  banterer  at  everything."  He 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  163 

approaches  the  young  girl,  in  his  boorish  fashion, 
and  pats  her  heartily  like  an  old  friend:  "Well, 
curly-headed  beauty!  .  .  .  When  will  the  recruit 
arrive?  .  .  .  ' 

.  .  .  The  scene  was  quickly  over.  Laurette,  startled 
by  this  sudden  attack,  drops  her  plank  which  falls  into 
the  frame.  Flon-Flon,  frightened,  sees  her  shudder 
and  grow  pale;  all  the  grim  sorrow  heaped  up  in  her 
heart  these  last  three  months  rises  and  chokes  her.  .  .  . 
She  can  barely  run  to  the  kitchen  and  shut  herself  up. 
But  behind  the  closed  shutters,  the  window  remaining 
open,  one  can  hear  her  sob  bitterly. 

.  .  .  Nono  springs  up,  his  arms  dangling  at  his  side, 
and  turns  his  long  bewildered  face  in  every  direction: 
"Come !  Laurette !  what's  the  matter  ?  .  .  .  What's  the 
matter?  .  .  .  Laurette?  ..." 

His  friends  do  not  need  much  more  to  arouse  their 
gayety.  .  .  .  There  they  are,  splitting  their  sides  with 
laughter  in  front  of  Nono,  who  watches  them,  with 
furious  eyes,  roll  on  the  ground  with  joy. 

For  a  long  time  this  was  one  of  the  standing  jokes 
of  the  region;  for  many  years  the  exclamation  of 
agony  uttered  by  the  father  was  to  remain  one  of  the 
insinuating  phrases  of  La  Cote;  and  there  \yas  not 
a  prank  played  without  someone  adding  slyly,  to  en- 
courage laughter:  "Come!  what's  the  matter.  .  . 
Laurette!  .  .  .  '  But  this  is  the  embellished  story: 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  incident  was  not  as  farcical 
as  tradition  would  have  it,  for  those  who  laugh  at 
Nono  to  his  face  do  not  laugh  long. 


164  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

"Look  here!  .  .  .  Are  you  through?  Do  you  want 
a  blow,  Briquet,  to  help  you  split  your  sides?  .  .  . 
And  you  too,  the  rest  of  you  ?  That's  enough !  .  .  .  ' 

And  Nono,  standing  in  his  dark  long  apron,  hard 
as  sheetiron,  rose  in  the  frame  of  the  press  like  a 
tall  black  devil.  But  his  serious,  hard  face  had  noth- 
ing burlesque  about  it:  they  all  became  silent  and  sud- 
denly pretended  to  be  busy,  for  they  all  knew  the  man. 
Nono  was  no  dupe  this  time.  Standing  as  erect  as 
possible,  his  body  emerging  vigorous  from  behind  the 
parapet  of  red  scales,  he  shouted: 

"You  pack  of  blackguards  (  .  .  .  You  ain't  men, 
nor  beasts,  you're  worse  than  death!  .  .  .  You  ain't 
bold  enough  to  play  the  part  of  Satan!  .  .  .  You've 
a  liking  for  the  job,  but  your  blood  is  too  cowardly! 
.  .  .  Poor,  little,  trembling  knave  .  .  .  dirty  cowards 
.  .  .  you  daren't  hardly  laugh  with  ease  but  at  the 
despair  of  an  old  man  and  a  child!  .  .  .  Look  here! 
Damn  you!  You  laughed  at  me  heartily  at  one  time! 
My  despair  at  being  a  betrayed  husband  made  your 
sides  split!  ...  I  let  that  pass.  But  this  time  I'm 
going  to  protect  my  child!  You'll  be  as  dumb  and 
peaceful  as  a  sheaf  of  corn  or  I'll  make  your  fiendish 
blood  and  your  wretched  souls  ferment  in  the  mud. 
.  .  .  You  understand,  don't  you  ?  .  .  .  Yes  ?  .  .  .  All 
right  then!  .  .  .  And  now,  a  little  more  heart!  .  .  . 
Let's  fill  up  the  frame,  hurry  there !  .  .  .  ' 

The  three  men  hurried  without  saying  a  word,  and 
started  once  more  to  carry  the  planks.  Nono  soon 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  165 

filled  the  frame  of  the  press;  now  he  only  had  to 
cover  the  top,  and  then  support  it  with  cross-pieces. 

"Here  we  are,  friends!"  said  Nono  as  he  forced 
down  with  a  blow  of  the  hammer  the  last  iron  wedge. 
"The  frame  has  its  full  load;  let's  push  the  wheel 
now." 

However,  standing  on  the  platform  of  the  press, 
Nono  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  raised  his  head. 
He  uttered  a  feeble  cry  of  distress:  "Ah!  poor  little 
one." 

Behind  the  shutters,  the  sobbing  gradually  grew 
fainter:  "Ah !  my  poor  little  child !  I've  guessed  almost 
everything  a  long  time  ago.  I  didn't  dare  say  a  word. 
I  didn't  dare  take  her  in  my  arms,  kiss  her,  or  rock 
her.  But  let  her  know  that  she'll  not  be  abandoned. 
There's  someone  near  her  who's  to  her  at  the  same 
time  a  father  and  a  mother,  and  who's  ready,  if  it 
must  be  so,  to  be  a  good  grandfather  too.  ...  I  still 
love  her,  I'm  still  sorry  for  having  been  unkind  to 
her,  I'm  still  thankful  to  her  for  her  kindness.  .  .  . 
I've  a  great  respect  for  her,  and  her  misfortune  of 
to-day  can't  change  anything.  .  .  .  Ah!  I  want  her  to 
hear  my  voice  behind  the  shutters!  Listen,  she  ain't 
crying  now!  Does  my  child  hear  me?" 

And  turning  towards  the  vintners  who  were  waiting 
somewhat  embarrassed:  "Look  here!  Once  I  hurt  her 
face  with  a  blow  of  the  fist.  It  was  on  a  mad  night. 
That's  my  crime.  But  what  has  she  done?  She  had 
faith  in  another  being!  .  .  .  What  a  pity!  .  .  .  But 
get  to  it,  friends.  Come  on,  push  ahead,  eh?" 


166  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

From  the  platform,  Nono  set  the  wheel  agoing  with 
much  vigor,  and  it  forced  the  screw  down  with  a 
loud  squeak.  Then,  when  it  started  to  press  the  planks 
down,  the  four  men  seized  the  pegs  of  the  wheel;  the 
eight  arms  thrust  in  all  directions  and  pulled  at  it.  The 
huge  blood-red  press  soon  forced  the  planks  down, 
and  the  wine  began  to  stream  into  the  vat  with  the 
murmur  of  a  large  spring. 

When  the  work  is  done,  the  vintners  have  nothing 
else  to  do  but  to  cross  their  hands  under  their  bibs. 
As  they  were  thus  sitting  and  resting,  Flon-Flon 
walked  over  to  Nono  and  in  an  embarrassed  but  gay 
and  cordial  voice  said: 

"I  said  some  stupid  things  a  while  ago  without 
meaning  any  harm.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  unhappy. 
Your  daughter  is  a  good  girl." 

"I  understand.  You're  a  goodhearted  fellow,  I 
know  it.  You  see  now  that  it's  wrong  to  jeer  at  these 
poor  girls  who're  with  child.  My  poor  Laurette 
didn't  even  dare  go  out  to  buy  sugar  or  bread.  Ah! 
she  was  suffering  much,  and  you  just  added  a  bit. 
What  wrong  has  she  done  ?  Where's  the  crime  ?  She's 
a  victim,  and  she  can  remain  in  the  house:  She'll  re- 
main honest,  and  if  the  child  comes  I'll  support  it." 

"Ah!  in  certain  houses  of  the  bourgeois  and  in  the 
castles  of  the  nobility  they'd  surely  be  very  much 
embarrassed  if  the  young  lady  was  secretly  with  child. 
But  we  can't  make  a  great  fuss,  crush  the  unfortunate 
with  the  air  of  merciless  bigots,  and  repeat  that  honor 
exists  only  among  people  with  large  incomes !  Us  poor 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  167 

devils  are  too  poor  to  be  hypocrites.  .  .  .  And  then, 
why  be  frightened?  Because  a  little  one  is  budding? 
.  .  .  We're  upset  as  if  one  dear  to  us  were  going  to 
die!  But  it's  just  the  opposite;  I  accept  it  willingly. 

"Ah!  he's  come  without  the  mayor  having  had  his 
say.  .  .  .  But  I  don't  like  to  listen  to  that  crank: 
he  married  me,  like  a  heartless  creature  between  two 
thrusts  of  the  spade,  and  of  what  use  was  it?  ... 
The  cure  didn't  have  his  say?  Perhaps  his  master  on 
high,  the  father  of  all  the  innocent,  has  had  more  to 
say  about  it,  and  not  in  gibberish  Latin.  That's  how 
it  is,  I  tell  you.  .  .  .  But  let's  take  two  or  three  more 
turns  at  the  wheel." 

When  that  was  done,  Briquet  decided  to  give  his 
opinion  on  the  matter. 

"You're  no  doubt  right,  Nono;  but  if  the  fellow 
wanted  to  marry,  perhaps  you  ought  to  consider  it. 
For  you  know  that  the  cures  don't  like  to  baptize 
bastards  nor  are  they  eager  to  administer  the  com- 
munion, nor  marry  'em." 

"Well !  the  cures  won't  put  it  down  on  their  registers, 
that's  all!  ...  Why  worry  about  their  scribbling? 
The  Eternal  Father  don't  agree  with  'em  in  the  final 
reckoning.  Why,  they're  cheating  Him.  Besides,  when 
the  cures  have  brayed  'Magnificat,'  they  think  they've 
done  their  share." 

But  Flon-Flon,  who  was  sorry,  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing serious:  "Yes,  all  that  is  true,  but  when  one 
works  for  somebody  else,  it's  a  bother  to  have  a  bas- 
tard child." 


168  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"That's  right.  I  know  that  there  are  bourgeois 
houses  who've  already  refused  my  daughter  work.  But 
the  bourgeois  of  to-day  are  a  fine  lot!  .  .  .  ' 

"To  be  sure !"  exclaimed  Briquet  vehemently.  "We 
ain't  become  a  Republic  for  nothing.  What  can  in- 
deed be  done  with  those  pigs?  They  walk  through  the 
streets  well  done  up  with  healthy  faces,  and  fresh, 
red  lips.  They  hold  their  curved  noses  out  and  their 
drawn-in  chins  over  their  collars;  they  walk  on  their 
toes  hardly  touching  the  ground  with  their  heels ;  and 
they  look  as  if  they  hated  to  tread  on  the  same  soil 
with  us.  The  women  are  still  worse.  They're  dif- 
ferent goods — they're  powdered,  polished,  varnished 
and  done  up  to  their  spleens:  they  look  so  sugary  and 
affected  that  they  hardly  dare  walk,  see  and  hear. 
Everything  disgusts  'em:  the  road,  the  air  and  the 
sun.  ...  I  wonder  how  they  dare  eat  the  same  bread 
we  eat,  and  do  things  like  all  other  mortals." 

"The  old  folks,"  said  the  sad  Nono  quietly,  "were 
better  than  that.  I've  known  some  with  beards,  good 
fellows,  who  sat  peacefully  in  their  gigs  with  pipes  in 
their  mouths.  In  fact,  everything  I  see  now  displeases 
me.  I've  become  spiteful,  and  I'm  disgusted  with  many 
a  man — with  'em,  with  you,  with  myself,  with  every- 
body. But  with  my  daughter  .  .  .  with  my  Laurette. 
...  Oh  no !.  .  never !" 


CHAPTER  IX 

ELEVEN  months  later,  one  afternoon  in  August, 
Nono  was  watering  his  little  garden  in  the  back  of 
the  yard,  when  a  tall  mountaineer  appeared. 

"Ah!  it's  you,  mountaineer?"  said  Nono  calmly. 

"Yes." 

"We  haven't  seen  you  in  a  long  time." 

"I  was  in  prison." 

"Ah!  .  .  .  Why?" 

"I  was  caught  in  the  Collonges  woods." 

"Ah !  you  poach  ?  That's  all  right.  That's  the  kind 
of  prison  that  only  dishonors  the  government." 

"You're  watering  the  spinach  seed-beds?" 

"I'm  watering  the  seed-beds,  and  I'm  watering  the 
flowers." 

"The  flowers?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .I'm  going  to  transplant  'em  on  a 
grave." 

"Ah! ..." 

"But  I've  finished.  We're  going  to  have  our  four 
o'clock  bite." 

When  the  two  men  were  at  the  table  and  they 
had  started  to  eat  the"  sausage,  Nono  said :  "Moun- 
taineer !  My  daughter  liked  you  very  much.  She  knew 
that  you  played  your  part  in  her  life.  You  used  to 

169 


170  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

sell  her  the  charcoal.  .  .  .  You  won't  sell  her  any 
more.  You  looked  for  her  a  while  ago.  .  .  .  You 
won't  find  her." 

The  mountaineer  did  not  answer.  He  held  the 
sausage  in  his  hand,  and  he  cut  a  piece  off  with  his 
knife. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  a  great  misfortune  has  befallen 
me." 

And  Nono  began  to  tell  his  sad  story. 

"But  before  the  occasion  of  bitter  sorrow,  this  little 
one  was  for  me  a  great  joy.  Because  of  her,  I  blessed 
life,  a  life  which  has  only  brought  me  misfortune. 
Ah!  our  happiness  was  destroyed  when  she  took  to 
sewing.  The  poor  child  wasn't  strong,  and  I  was  afraid 
that  the  work  of  the  soil  would  be  too  hard  for  her 
frail  and  graceful  body.  Ah!  the  soil  is  wretched  and 
knavish:  you  must  strike  at  it  hard  before  you  can 
get  anything  out  of  it.  I,  therefore,  had  her  placed 
as  an  apprentice  with  Mile.  Gaudry,  who  is  homely 
but  of  good  character  and  clever  at  her  work.  To-day, 
she's  married  to  a  mountaineer  by  the  name  of  Dabain 
of  B'evy.  This  girl  taught  our  Laurette  very  well; 
at  seventeen  she  worked  for  people  by  the  day  or  did 
sewing  at  home.  But  it's  hard  work,  no  matter  what 
they  say;  for  my  Laurette  killed  her  chest  by  being 
always  bent  over  her  needle  and  thread. 

"Ah!  no  suffering  and  no  shame  was  spared  that 
little  being!  You  can  guess  the  story.  In  the  midst 
of  the  gay  harvest  season,  I  had  suddenly  noticed  that 
she  had  changed  very  much.  Of  that  dear  and  beautiful 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  171 

girl,  there  remained  only  a  pale  face  and  ashy-gray 
eyes.  Oh!  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  understand  the 
mystery.  I  wanted  to  talk  tenderly  to  her;  but  I 
couldn't  find  nothing  to  say,  nothing  to  soothe  a  down- 
trodden soul. 

"One  day,  however,  while  making  wine,  my  bitter- 
ness provoked  me  and  forced  me  to  speak  in  the  best 
way  I  could.  But  what  can  you  say  and  do,  when 
you  see  a  village  of  five  hundred  hearths  delight  in 
the  misfortune  of  a  girl?  The  entire  region  was 
wrangling  for  the  death  of  my  daughter!  Each  of 
their  jeering  smiles  made  my  child  take  another  step 
to  her  grave !  In  this  struggle  against  a  wicked  world, 
I  wasn't  the  strongest.  She  didn't  even  dare  go  out 
for  milk.  She  would  wait  for  the  night,  the  darkness 
that  hides  what  is  shameful.  Besides,  she  lost  her 
work;  the  bourgeois  sent  her  away,  and  the  wine- 
growers laughed  at  her. 

"After  the  child  was  born,  she  fell  sick.  Indeed, 
she  only  rose  from  her  childbed  to  lie  down  again 
on  her  deathbed.  She  had  some  relief  for  a  few  weeks, 
however.  Poor  Laurette  attended,  then,  to  her  duties 
as  mother.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  regard 
for  other  people.  She  would  feed  her  darling  baby 
in  anybody's  presence. 

"At  times  I'd  take  her  with  me  to  breathe  the  fresh 
air  of  the  fields.  But  she'd  already  become  so  delicate, 
so  thin!  .  .  .  Ah!  I  wasn't  at  all  easy  on  looking  at 
those  shining  eyes,  gazing  at  I  know  not  what.  She 
hardly  ever  spoke  to  me.  She  just  answered  me. 


172  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Why,  she  seemed  to  keep  all  her  love  for  her  child. 
Sometimes  she'd  raise  her  eyes  towards  me  as  if  to 
say:  Tm  forgetting  you,  father.'  And  I'd  answer 
stupidly  perhaps :  'Yes,  my  child,  do  it !' 

"When  she'd  nurse  her  baby,  she'd  shake  her  head 
with  nervous  movements  of  despair;  and  she  didn't 
take  her  eyes  off  the  little  darling,  almost  lost  in  the 
blanket,  who'd  hold,  with  tiny  fingers,  her  breast. 
With  her  fingertips,  as  delicate  as  blades  of  grass, 
Laurette'd  squeeze  her  breast  so  tenderly  that  it  seemed 
to  give  at  once  all  the  milk  and  all  the  love  of  the 
mother.  On  seeing  this,  my  broken  heart  only  brought 
tears  to  my  eyes;  and  I'd  go  to  the  garret  and  weep 
bitterly. 

"I've  told  you  that  she  cared  no  more  about  people ; 
but  they  tried  very  hard  to  win  her  attention,  and 
would  always  look  slyly  at  her.  She  didn't  mind  it. 
On  her  pale  face,  tired  of  this  world,  there  was  an 
expression  that  terrified  me.  You  could  read  on  it 
the  terrible  resignation  to  everything,  to  life  as  well 
as  to  death. 

"One  afternoon  in  April,  she  went  with  me  to 
breathe  the  air  and  see  the  sun  for  the  last  time.  We 
went  down  in  the  mule's  gig.  'Come,  my  little  dar- 
ling,' I  said  to  her.  'The  April  sun  won't  hurt  you.' 
Alas!  it  hurt  her  as  much  as  possible.  On  our  way 
back  she  spat  blood  on  the  dust  of  the  road. 

"My  Laurette  was  to  see  no  more  the  fields  and 
the  sun.  We  took  her  baby  away  from  her  breast. 
The  doctor  had  threatened  to  do  it,  but  didn't.  Then 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL1  173 

one  day  he  said :  'No  more !'  The  neighbors  took  care 
of  the  baby,  then  they  came  to  look  after  my  daughter. 
The  work  of  the  vineyards  was  at  its  height,  but  I 
remained  near  my  child  as  much  as  possible.  On  June 
23rd,  I  was  obliged  to  be  out  all  afternoon;  on  coming 
home  in  the  evening  I  found  the  doctor  near  my 
daughter.  I  was  very  much  surprised  when  he  told 
me  she  wouldn't  pull  through  the  night.  She  was  very 
sick.  In  her  delirium  she  called  for  her  mother.  Sud- 
denly, she  looked  at  us,  seeking  among  us.  And  then, 
she — so  quiet,  so  resigned — began  to  shout  vehemently 
and  insult  us.  She  wanted  something  that  was  im- 
possible, my  friend!  .  .  . 

"...  Ah!  I  feel  better  when  I  talk  to  you.  My 
child  is  dead  eight  weeks,  and  triTs  is  the  first  time 
I've  spoken  of  her  at  length.  To  whom  can  I  speak? 
.  .  .  My  friend  of  the  mountain,  you  see  before  you 
a  strong  man.  People  weep  much  upon  earth;  few 
wipe  the  sweat  off  their  foreheads  with  their  fingers. 
This  is  the  sweat  of  the  soul.  These  tears  do  me 
no  good.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  longer  I  live  the 
harder  is  my  sorrow.  It's  sinking  into  me  and 
burning  my  inner  being.  Listen,  let  it  last  till  my 
death !  Let  me  die  quick  with  my  grief  still  keen.  But 
what,  ain't  there  the  baby?  When  the  neighbors  will 
wean  her,  who'll  take  care  of  her  ...  if  I  ain't  here 
no  more?" 

Nono  was  silent.  He  sat  and  thought  with  his  body 
leaning  forward,  his  elbow  on  his  knee  and  his  hand 


174  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

over  his  eyes.  The  mountaineer  closed  his  knife  with 
a  sharp  click,  and  Nono  raised  his  head. 

"Have  you  eaten  as  much  as  you  want  of  the 
sausage  ? 

"Well,  you  must  drink  another  glass,  and  here's  to 
you!  ..." 

"Ah !  my  friend !"  said  Nono  putting  down  his  glass. 
"It  ain't  easy  to  do  your  duty  in  this  world.  But  how 
far  did  I  get  in  my  sad  story?  Ah!  I  was  telling 
you  of  that  terrible  night!  Well,  an  idea  occurred  to 
me.  I  ran  to  Piemontais,  and  I  told  him  quick  what 
he  must  do,  what  I  expected  of  him  .  .  .  the  sad 
comedy  we  had  to  play.  We  had  to  give  the  little 
one  her  last  consolation  on  earth:  make  her  believe 
that  her  mother  was  still  alive  and  was  coming  to  see 
her.  I  come  home  and  wait.  I  don't  wait  a  long 
time.  My  man  comes  in;  but  on  seeing  the  little  one 
on  her  bed  he  began  to  cry  and  moan.  .  .  .  He  wept 
bitterly  because  he  saw  my  poor  child  leaving  this 
world.  .  .  .  'Yes!'  he  cried  at  last.  T  met  Nenette 
in  the  streets  of  Dijon!  She  was  well;  by  heavens! 
even  fat.  .  .  .  She  was  looking  at  a  show-window  of 
pipes  when  I  met  her.  .  .  .  She  asked  about  you,  little 
one.  I  told  her  that  you  were  a  little  sick,  but  getting 
better.  .  .  .  Well,  she's  coming  to  see  you  to-morrow 
morning.  To-morrow  morning,  by  heavens!  with  the 
coach  of  La  Cote!  ..."  Poor  Laurette,  with  her 
eyes  wide  open,  stared  at  him  with  her  very  soul,  draw- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  175 

ing  in  great  agony  from  that  direction  her  last  breath, 
as  if  he  had  brought  her  life.  She  asked: 

"'Mamma!  .  .  .  where  is  she?  ...  Tell  me 
quickly !' 

"Why,  at  Dijon/ 

"'In  what  part?' 

"'In  what  part?  .  .  .  Yes,  that's  right  ...  in 
what  part?  .  .  .  Well,  she's  at  the  Porte  d'Ouche. 
Besides,  I've  been  there:  street,  number.  ...  I  know 
everything.  I  would  bring  you  there  with  my  eyes 
closed.  .  .  .  ' 

"  'Ah !  .  .  .  '  sighed  my  dying  darling.  'Ah !  what 
good  news!  Oh!  yes!  .  .  .  To-morrow,  then?  .  .  . 
To-morrow  morning,  be  sure  it's  not  in  the  evening, 
eh?  .  .  .  ' 

"And  then  she  added,  after  gasping  for  breath: 
Til  be  gone  then.' 

"Hearing  this,  Piemontais  at  once  ran  to  the  stair- 
case and  disappeared.  Then  Catherine  tried  to  save 
the  situation :  'Don't  prepare  anything,  Nono.  I'll  make 
Nenette's  bed  to-morrow.  .  .  .  I'll  bring  the  linen 
and  the  mattress.  .  .  .  She'll  sleep  here,  in  her 
daughter's  room.  .  .  .  ' 

"Laurette  moved  her  head  on  her  pillow  from  left 
to  right.  She  seemed  to  say  no.  But  what  did  she 
exactly  mean?  ...  I  don't  know.  The  dear  couldn't 
speak.  She  gasped  for  air,  and  kept  pulling  at  the 
sheet.  Then,  I  told  them  all  to  leave,  for  I  wanted 
to  remain  alone  with  my  daughter  during  the  last  few 
moments  of  her  life.  She  was  suffering  and  moaning. 


176  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

I  bent  my  head  and  wept.  Hearing  no  noise,  I  looked 
at  her  and  saw  her  dear  blond  head  motionless,  and 
her  two  eyes  riveted  on  me;  they  were  big  and  wide 
open,  with  an  understanding  of  life  which  terrified 
me!  .  .  .  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  me.  .  .  . 
'Raise  me  a  little,  little  father/  she  said.  I  raised  her 
somewhat  on  her  pillow.  'Hold  me,  little  father !  .  .  . 
That's  right.  .  .  .  Let  me  look  at  you  a  last  time.' 
She  put  her  limp  arms  on  my  shoulders  and  her  face 
was  near  mine. 

"  'Papa !  .  .  .  I'm  causing  you  much  sorrow,  ain't 
I?  ...  But  I  don't  do  it  on  purpose.  My  papa  .  .  . 
you  loved  me  a  great  deal.  My  soul  is  going  away 
full  of  your  love.' 

"Oh!  it's  true  then,  my  Laurette?  .  .  .  You  want 
to  leave  me?  .  .  .  What's  going  to  become  of  me 
all  alone?  .  .  . 

"  Toor  papa !  .  .  .  I'm  going  away  through  my 
shame,  do  you  see  ?  .  .  .  ' 

"Through  shame?  little  victim!  .  .  .  Oh  no!  .  .  . 
The  angels  of  heaven  are  calling  you !  .  .  . 

"  'Oh !  I  don't  know !'  she  said  shaking  her  head 
in  doubt  and  crying  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  crying.  Oh!  what 
terrible  tears  to  see!  ... 

"Dear  little  angel !  .  .  .  Ah !  what  a  sad  life  you've 

had !  You've  had  few  happy  days  and  little  luck !  .  .  . 

'  'Oh  no !  I  wasn't  lucky.  .  .  .  '   And  she  added  in 

a  soft  voice,  her  head  falling  sideways  on  her  shoulder. 

'Oh  no!  not  lucky,  not  at  all  I  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  my  poor  child:  no  luck  and  no  happiness. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL1  177 

"  'Who's  going  to  love  you  now,  little  father?  Oh! 
how  good  of  you !  .  .  .  That  man  who  came  to  speak 
to  me  of  my  mother!  .  .  .  You  wanted  to  let  me 
depart  with  that  hope!  .  .  .  Thanks!  little  father! 
.  .  .  for  you  called  that  man.  .  .  .  '  I  had  no  more 
courage.  ...  I  couldn't  deny  it  longer.  ...  I  mo- 
tioned yes. 

"  'Yes !  I  knew  it,'  she  continued  in  her  poor  soft 
voice.  'But  one  day,  it'll  be  true,  my  papa.  Mamma'll 
come  back.  Let  her  find  forgiveness  .  .  .  open  arms ! 
You'll  talk  to  her  of  me,  won't  you?' 

"These  were  tne  words  of  my  daughter.  She  was 
exhausted  and  I  laid  her  down.  I  covered  her 
shoulders  with  the  sheet.  She  looked  as  if  asleep.  She 
even  seemed  to  breathe  more  quietly.  .  .  .  That  lasted 
a  while.  I  even  wondered  if  a  miracle  wouldn't  happen 
before  my  eyes.  Suddenly  she  got  up  and  threw  the 
sheet  back.  'Ah  yes !'  she  cried.  And  she  sprang  out 
of  bed.  I  ran  to  her,  and  she  was  already  sitting  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed.  Oh!  what  a  terrible  look  in  her 
eyes:  it  wasn't  life  or  death  but  worse! 

"  'I  want  to  go  there,'  she  cried. 

"'Where,'  my  child? 

"  'To  Dijon,  to  mamma.  Oh !  I  know  where !  I 
know!  .  .  .  I'm  going  there!  .  .  .  Let  me!  .  .  .  '  I 
held  her  back;  she  pushed  me  away  with  great  force. 

"  'Well,  my  child,  we'll  go  there.  .  .  .  But  wait  a 
moment.  .  .  .  ' 

"'No.    Let  me!  .  .  .  I'm  going  there.  ......' 


178          iNONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

'"But  it's  dark,  my  child!  .  .  .  It's  the  middle  of 
the  night.  .  K  •- ' 

"'Night?  .  .  No!  .  .  .  It's  a  lie  ...  a  lie! 
.  .  .  '  she  shouted,  but  so  loud  that  no  human  voice 
could  be  more  piercing !  .  .  . 

"  'A  lie !  ...  Yes.  .  .  .  Everything  you  tell  me  is 
a  lie !  .  .  .  Oh !  .  .  .  '  Here  she  calms  herself  a  little 
and  looks  at  me.  'Oh!  Jean!  .  .  .  My  dear  love! 
.  .  .  My  Jeannot !  .  .  .  little  Jeannot !  .  .  .  Oh !  what 
did  you  make  of  me?  .  .  .  What  did  you  do?' 

"  'My  child  .  w  .  it's  me !  It's  your  father !'  She 
looks  at  me  and  recognizes  me.  And  quietly  she  tells 
me:  'Papa,  I'm  going  to  mamma.'  And  I  answer: 
'Yes,  my  child,  we're  going  together,  in  the  gig ;  there's 
just  time  to  hitch  up  the  mule  and  we  depart.  .  .  .  ' 

"  'Hurry.' 

"  'Yes.  But  lie  down  for  a  while.  .  .  .  That's  right. 
I'm  going  down  to  hitch  up.' 

"Then  I  pretended  to  go  out.  But  I  stopped  at  the 
door.  I  listened.  ...  I  heard  no  noise.  ...  I  come 
back  to  the  bed.  ...  I  saw  at  once  that  I  couldn't 
take  my  child  on  the  stony  roads  of  this  earth,  but 
must  wait  like  a  Christian  for  God's  moment,  and  close 
her  poor  eyes." 


CHAPTER  X 

"AIN'T  you  got  a  little  brandy  to  drink?"  said  the 
mountaineer,  who  was  smoking  his  short  pipe. 

Nono  awoke  from  his  dream:  "Why,  sure!  .  .  . 
Poor  friend!  By  heavens!  I  keep  on  dreaming  and 
I  leave  you  here  with  nothing  more  to  drink,  and 
without  even  offering  you  a  dram!  .  .  .  Let's  drink 
it  quickly." 

And  when  they  had  swallowed  the  brandy,  Nono 
continued:  "Yes  my  friend,  I've  had  a  sad  spring. 
But  we'll  have  a  good  wine  harvest.  The  vintages  of 
'96  and  '97  were  bad;  but  the  '98'!!  be  good." 

"You've  indeed  had  a  great  deal  of  sorrow,"  said 
the  mountaineer;  "you  ought  to  be  righted  in  some 
way." 

"Ah!  mountaineer!  You  know,  I  can't  believe  that 
this'll  be  the  end  of  the  love  between  my  daughter  and 
me.  I'll  tell  you  something  that  you'll  no  doubt  think 
strange:  I  wasn't  in  despair  when  I  followed  my 
daughter's  coffin.  And  while  I  was  taking  my  child 
to  the  grave,  I  looked  at  the  sun,  the  fields,  and  the 
vines.  ...  It  seemed  to  me  they  were  the  ornaments 
of  the  just.  No,  I  think  my  daughter  hasn't  utterly 
disappeared ;  but  there's  near  me  a  dear  shadow.  .  .  . 
I  think  that  after  death  the  soul  comes  to  the  beings 

179 


180  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

who've  lived  through  it.  ...  But  what  can  I  tell  you  ? 
My  words  can't  explain  what  I  feel." 

Saying  this,  Nono  raised  his  eyes  and  lifted  his  arms 
somewhat,  as  if  he  wished  to  grasp  in  the  air  the 
incomprehensible  words  of  the  great  mystery.  Alas! 
many  others  have  raised  towards  them  useless  hands 
and  ineffectual  arms,  ever  since  the  day  that  man 
first  here  below  came  stooping  and  seeking. 

"Another  would  say ;  I  don't  know.  But  let  it  never 
happen  to  you  that  you  put  your  child  in  her  shroud. 
She  wasn't  very  heavy ;  about  half  a  hundred  weight ! 
...  That's  what  twenty-one  years  of  life  had  left  of 
her.  She  only  asked  to  pass  through  the  paths  of  life 
and  of  this  world  like  others,  smiling  and  working; 
but  the  first  steps  were  already  cut  off.  .  .  .  Look 
here!  I'm  not  a  weakling;  I'm  rather  a  brutal  fellow. 
But  when  I  covered  forever  the  face  of  my  child, 
I  rose  saying  with  all  my  heart:  'I  hand  her  over 
to  someone  more  powerful  and  more  just  than  men.' 
Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"Oh!  you  know  I'm  a  man  of  the  woods,  and  I 
can  cut  my  trees  well  enough;  but  of  these  things  I 
know  very  little.  .  .  .  ' 

"All  right.  But  look  here,  if  there  ain't  a  supreme 
God  who  looks  after  our  dead  children  when  they  can 
no  more  love  us,  there  ain't  no  use  living,  unless  it  be 
to  plant  potatoes  and  dress  the  vines.  .  .  .  And  yet, 
how  uncertain  'tis!  .  .  .  The  last  terrible  words  of 
my  daughter!  .  .  .  The  look  of  doubt  she  had!  .  .  . 
Ah!  what  can  we  say?  What  can  we  think?  People 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIU  181 

say,  the  world  is  large.  Not  enough,  since  there  'd  be 
nowhere  the  true  rest  of  the  living,  or  even  of  the 
dead.  For  theirs  'd  be  the  same  as  that  of  the  stone 
or  rock  which  has  never  loved!  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  ...  If  you've  done  your  duty,  you've  noth- 
ing against  yourself,  and  don't  bother  too  much  about 
the  rest." 

"My  duty!  ...  To  be  sure,  I  think  I've  done  it. 
My  old  man  used  to  tell  me  at  times  queer  things. 
They  were  never  very  clear;  but  after  a  great  deal 
of  round  about  talk  concerning  the  life  of  former 
postmen,  he  always  ended  by  telling  me  that  I  was 
a  fool.  And  yet  my  old  man  was  wrong.  After  all, 
I'm  richer  than  him.  At  times  I  stop  and  look  back 
at  my  poor  panting  life  with  its  two  loves,  the  one 
destroyed  by  dishonor  and  the  other  by  death.  .  .  . 
Well,  I'd  almost  say!  1  ain't  sorry  for  nothing!'  At 
certain  moments  I  feel  he's  very  near  me.  And  when 
he  reaches  my  heart,  I  no  longer  despair  and  say  to 
myself:  'My  Laurette  is  in  good  hands.'  Besides,  I 
can  well  say  that  I've  the  tranquil  soul  of  an  honest 
man.  I  suffer  indeed;  but  we're  here  to  suffer.  We 
must  always  suffer  somewhere,  whether  it  be  in  this 
world  or  the  other.  Suffering  is  everywhere,  it  awaits 
us  on  all  sides." 

The  peaceful  assurance  that  Nono  did  not  always 
find  in  his  heart  came  to  him  from  elsewhere.  To 
calm  a  troubled  soul,  there  is  nothing  more  effective 
than  the  inexpressive  smile  of  a  poor  baby.  Nono's 


182  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

happiest  moments  were,  indeed,  when  the  neighbors 
brought  him  his  little  Catherine,  asleep  in  her  swad- 
dling clothes.  The  good  woman,  who  was  her  god- 
mother, also  acted  as  her  mother.  It  was  understood 
that  later  on,  when  the  infant  should  have  been  weaned, 
Nono  would  take  her  back  in  his  charge. 

"I've  had  a  great  misfortune  in  losing  my  daughter," 
said  Nono.  "But  something  worse  might've  happened 
to  me:  I  might've  remained  alone  upon  earth;  as  it 
is,  when  my  daughter  was  gone  I  had  only  to  bend 
over  her  little  old  cradle  and  find  another  one,  who 
put  her  tiny  fingers  in  my  face  and  pulled  at  my 
mustache." 

Nono  worked  courageously  at  his  vines  and  small 
fields.  By  dint  of  always  living  out  of  doors,  he  was 
gradually  won  back  by  the  peaceful  silence  of  the 
fields.  It  is  not  in  vain  that  nature  spreads  before 
man  from  the  plain  to  the  mountain  her  immense 
seasons.  ...  In  his  little  garden  of  the  Marais,  Nono 
found  once  more  all  the  sweetness  of  former  autumns. 
But  it  was  especially  in  the  mowing  that  Nono's  heart 
gladdened,  when  the  sun  rose  bright  and  smiled  upon 
nature,  when  the  woods  had  the  glowing  purity  of  a 
fresh  morning.  Nono  slept  very  little,  and  at  times 
he  would  even  come  to  his  fields  at  daybreak,  when, 
beneath  the  osiers  and  willows,  the  troubled  vapors 
of  the  still  waters  rise.  They  sway  without  lifting 
from  the  earth,  like  the  vague  light  of  a  dream.  Their 
feet  of  white  satin  walk  among  the  reeds  and  wild 
mint 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  183 

...  In  the  early  part  of  October,  heavy  rains  sud- 
denly began  to  fall;  and  as  soon  as  they  had  ceased, 
the  mists  appeared  with  their  drooping  masses.  The 
plowmen  then  began  their  sowing.  The  naked  soil, 
flattened  by  the  roller,  was  already  waiting  for  the 
time  when  the  young  corn  would  sprout;  a  little 
farther,  the  dark  plowed  lands  still  lay  in  even  rows. 
Man  was  everywhere;  one  saw  him  in  the  distance 
scarcely  moving  along  the  fields.  The  willows,  the 
osiers  and  the  green  slopes  spread  along  the  ditches 
at  the  bottom  of  which  the  rising  waters  flowed.  In 
the  forest  the  work  of  winter  began;  the  woodcutter 
attacked  the  woods  with  his  ax,  and,  near  him,  the 
charcoal-seller  built  in  silence. 

But  for  Nono  is  also  come  this  melancholy  wind 
of  autumn,  which  severs  the  leaves  and  strips  the 
branches.   Before  the  dying  forests  and  the  bare  soil, 
Nono,  with  his  head  in  his  hands  was  sitting  and 
dreaming.    His  little  red  eyes  look  up  towards  the 
clouded  expanse,  towards  the  timeless  distance  where 
the  roads  of  men  have  their  origin.    He  looks  back 
on  his  past:  the  veil  rises  and  the  numberless  days 
of  the  bygone  years  which  have  weighed  him  down* 
in  silence  pass  before  him.    Like  the  thin  mist  which  /. 
rose  from  the  ditch,  all  the  phantoms  of  former  days  l 
come  forth.     They  continue  to  rise  from  the  eternal 
earth,  their  arms  full  of  caresses  .  .  .  flowers  of  a 
past  spring,  the  love  of  a  former  day. 

And  now  the  winter  has  come  with  its  pitiful  gloom, 
and  its  frost  covering  the  roads.     But  the  joys  and 


184  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

hardships  of  the  seasons,  which  pass  over  a  soil  that 
dies,  do  not  matter  to  Nono.  His  primitive  soul  has 
risen  to  the  heights  where  alone  there  is  light.  Solitary 
at  home,  in  the  deep  silence  of  the  long  evenings,  he 
listens  in  peace:  he  listens  attentively  without  despair, 
and  yet  there  is  no  other  noise  but  that  of  the  wind 
in  the  dry  branches  and  on  the  pointed  roofs.  But 
he  is  not  listening  to  the  *wind  without.  It  is  his 
torn  and  tender  soul  which  yearns  toward  the  un- 
known wind,  to  that  merciful  breath  which  is  ever 
present,  which  moves  us  more  and  more  here  below, 
and  which  gradually  invites  to  itself  the  living  and 
the  dead. 

.  .  .  Only  those  hear  it  who  have  the  soul  of  Nono 
.  .  .  those  who  gently  raise  their  heads  above  the 
lowly  sorrow  of  this  world  and  listen  in  peace  .  .  . 
those  who  in  life  await  death. 


PART  111 

CHAPTER  I 

SEVERAL  years  have  elapsed.  .  .  . 

On  a  rainy  afternoon  of  last  September,  the  wine- 
growers of  the  neighborhood  were  sitting  and  talking 
at  a  table  in  the  Cafe  Caillot. 

"What  are  we  going  to  have  now?" 

"Well,  as  Nono  says:  a  good  absinth  with  a  golden 
edge." 

"Nono  is  a  good  sot  now." 

"There  ain't  a  worse  one:  he's  never  sober." 

"Ah!  Nono!  a  jolly  fellow,  always  in  good  spirits. 
Well,  I  like  him  better  like  that  than  the  way  he  was 
eight  years  ago,  after  the  death  of  his  daughter.  Why, 
he  wasn't  a  man:  he  was  a  preacher.  He'd  poison  us 
with  stories  which  smelt  of  the  candle  and  the  preach- 
ing at  a  cemetery.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  ..."  said  Grele  in  his  hoarse,  weakened 
voice,  "I  can  still  see  this  Nono,  on  an  April  morning, 
preaching  to  me  in  the  open  field:  'We  ain't  the  sons 
of  the  sand  and  the  rocks.  .  .  .  We're  the  children  of 
Heaven.  .  .  .  '  And  he  shook  his  finger  under  my 
nose,  holding  out  to  me  his  long  face  of  an  old  Pater- 

185 


186  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

noster.  .  .  .  But  friends,  look !  there's  our  customer ! 
» 

Sitting  near  the  window,  the  big  good-for-nothing 
raised  a  corner  of  the  curtain: 

"Yes !  ...  He  comes  right  on  top  of  us.  .  .  .  He's 
full!  We'll  have  a  good  laugh!" 

"None  of  your  jokes,  eh?"  cried  Briquet.  "You 
know  him:  when  he's  drunk,  you  must  let  him  blab, 
otherwise  he  gets  angry,  and  fells  you  with  a  blow 
of  his  cap,  for  he  keeps  the  fist  inside.  Mind  you 
now,  eh?" 

The  door  opened ;  Nono  entered  slowly,  holding  out 
his  long,  bewildered  face.  The  entire  pack  yelped  in 
chorus: 

"Here's  Nicolas!  .  .  .  Hurrah!  Here's  Nicolas! 
.  .  .  Nono!  .  .  .  Old  pal!  .  .  .  Old  pal!" 

Nono  listened,  still  standing  with  his  hand  behind 
him  on  the  knob  of  the  door.  It  was  still  the  old 
Nono,  but  with  deeper  wrinkles,  gray  hair  and  a  hag- 
gard look. 

"Well,  you  pack  of  knaves !  you're  gay !  You  gang 
of  drunkards!  you  drink  like  choristers,  and  yet  you 
sing  false." 

"Ah!  oh!  ...  here  you  already  have  his  compli- 
ments !  .  .  .  Nono,  what'll  you  have  ?  .  .  .  ' 

"At  once,  quickly,  a  little  absinth.  Annette,  fix  it 
up  nicely:  something  well  stuffed  and  thick;  make  it 
a  good  roguish  absinth,  silky  like  the  bristles  of  a 
pig.  Go  ahead,  Annette !  You  fat  wench,  get  a  move 
on  you,  I'm  in  a  hurry.  .  .  .  But  just  wait  a  minute, 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  187 

Annette.  .  .  .  My  pretty  child  .  .  .  one  question 
.  .  .  only  one  question:  Baby  mine!  how  goes  it 
with  your  love  affairs?  .  .  .  No!  no!  you  mustn't 
slap.  .  .  .  That's  how  I  like  a  woman,  you  see! 
She  must  be  nice  and  plump  like  you — a  good 
substantial  armful.  None  of  your  scrawny  weep- 
ing skeletons  for  me.  The  young  men  are  fond 
of  you,  I'll  be  bound — aren't  they  now.  Con- 
fess! .  .  .  Ho  there!  ho  there!  .  .  .  No  fighting 
here!  .  .  .  Confound  you,  don't  scratch  me,  you 
little  vixen.  .  .  . 

"Look  here,  friends !  'Tis  the  day  for  long  speeches. 
I  see  you  there  at  your  tables,  gloomy  like  the  dark 
rains,  sour  like  farmers,  with  wretched  little  glasses 
like  the  ones  they  serve  in  the  field — except  to  the 
sentinel!  .  .  .  Sentinel,  don't  fire:  there  are  only 
ghosts  before  you !  But  ain't  there  no  spirit,  nor  thirst 
among  you  creatures  there!  We'll  see.  We're  going 
to  line  up  some  good  bottles;  absinth  as  strong  as  a 
good  guard  and  bitters  as  lively  as  a  bombardment. 
To-day,  friends,  it's  the  day  of  great  thirst  and  long 
speeches:  I've  got  crowds  to  convince,  and  the  baffled 
universe  will  hear  us  speak  of  it.  But  first  of  all. 

V 

And  Nono  stopped  and  raised  his  hands  as  if  to 
bless.  .  .  . 

"How  goes  it  ...  with  .  .  .  with  your  families?" 
"Very  well,  Nono.     How's  yours?" 
"Very  well." 


188  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"And  how's  that  Catherine?  Is  she  well?  And  still 
well-behaved,  to  be  sure?" 

"Oh!  .  .  .  well-behaved?  That's  a  question.  To 
be  truthful,  that  creature  hardly  gives  me  much 
pleasure.  There  ain't  here  a  worse  shrew.  And  be- 
sides, she  ain't  easy  to  handle.  She  lords  it  over  you 
all  the  time: 

"  'Nono,  do  this !  .  .  .  Nono,  do  that !  .  .  .  '  And 
when  I  tell  her  sometimes:  'But  you  who  order  about 
others  so  well,  why  don't  you  do  something,  too?' 
Well,  instead  of  doing  it  she  runs  out  in  the  street 
like  a  dogged  wretch.  I  didn't  have  much  satisfaction 
from  that  little  creature.  ...  I  didn't  think  it'd  come 
to  this,  some  time  ago." 

"Do  you  know,  that  it's  me  who  first  announced  the 
coming  of  this  little  one  in  the  Baraques  ?" 

"That's  right,"  replied  Nono. 

"And  this  wag  there  got  after  me!  Oh!  like  a  real 
hungry  wolf!" 

"Yes,  you're  right  there  again;  I  was  taken  un- 
awares." 

"Oh  Nono!"  said  all  at  the  table.  "Nono!  Nono! 
It's  mean  what  you've  done.  Poor  Flon-Flon !  Nono, 
find  something  to  cheer  him  up  a  bit.  .  .  .  ' 

"I'll  tell  you  what!  I'll  pay  for  some  good  wine. 
I  say  so,  and  I  don't  go  back  on  my  word.  We're 
going  to  drink  a  glass  to  the  Republic,  and  let  the 
entire  bourgeois  croak !" 

This  idea  made  Briquet  jump  up: 

"The  Bourgeois !  .  .  .  One  of  these  days,  we're  go- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  189 

ing  to  send  'em  to  dress  the  vines  in  their  turn.  It's 
been  long  enough  ours.  And  that's  not  all:  the  land 
and  the  vines  must  belong  to  the  municipality.  I  feel 
strong  enough  to  be  a  State  winegrower." 

"Ah!  upon  my  faith!"  replied  Nono  placidly,  "this 
bourgeoisie  is  a  rotten  lot.  There  ain't  a  single  beast 
among  'em  who'd  hand  me  a  bit  of  work  in  winter. 
Do  you  see  that!  .  .  .  Not  one  of  'em  wants  to  give 
me  anything  declaring  as  an  excuse  that  in  the  last 
two  or  three  years  I've  become  too  much  of  a 
drunkard." 

"Do  you  see  that!"  the  chorus  continued  plain- 
tively. 

"Yes  ...  as  for  them,  have  they  blood  red  enough 
to  be  good  drunkards  ?  They're  a  disgusted  lot  Noth- 
ing's good  for  'em:  neither  vines,  vintage,  nor  sun. 
They  must  have  water,  like  a  fog.  To  play  the  clever 
ones,  they  buy  expensive  water,  mineral  water,  in 
which  rocks  are  steeped.  A  pack  of  blackguards!  In 
the  meantime  we  can't  sell  our  wine!  Besides,  every- 
thing disgusts  'em.  They  breathe  the  air  as  if  it  was 
medicine.  And  when  they  eat  a  good  piece  of  meat, 
all  juicy,  they  suck  at  it  between  their  teeth  like 
licorice.  .  .  .  We'd  like  to  eat  meat  if  we  had  it.  But 
we  ain't.  I  haven't  eaten  meat  in  four  years." 

"But  what  do  you  do  when  you  kill  your  pig?" 

"Then  I  eat  pork;  but  pork  ain't  meat." 

"He  eats  so  much  of  it  that  he  don't  eat  bread  for 
two  weeks." 

"Ah!  you  can  well  say  that  I  treat  myself  to  it! 


190  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

But  at  other  times,  when  I  don't  buy  any  meat,  at 
least  I  buy  some  fat.  For  I'm  just  as  clever  as  any 
of  you,  and  I  know  that  vegetables  well  cooked  in 
fat  is  better  than  lean  meat.  We're  often  obliged, 
however,  to  eat  dry  bread  and  imagine  that  the  crumb 
is  the  sauce  and  the  crust  some  dainty  game.  Seasoned 
with  a  good  idea  like  this,  the  piece  of  bread  becomes 
a  real  treat. 

"But  after  the  drought  of  this  summer,  what  are 
we  going  to  eat  this  winter?  .  .  .  What  do  you  say 
there,  eh?  No  beans,  no  cabbage,  almost  no  potatoes; 
and  the  little  we  have  is  going  to  dry  up,  if  we  have 
no  rain.  Ah!  it'll  be  wretched.  There'll  be  wine  you 
say.  It's  to  be  seen.  But  admit  it.  We  have  to  wait 
for  the  vintage.  But  the  wine  merchants  wait  for  us 
too.  And  now  they  all  sit  in  automobiles  and  stare 
at  us,  laughing  as  they  see  us  swallow  with  great 
respect  their  dust  and  struggle  there  for  famine  prices. 
.  .  .  And  we  must  live  a  whole  year  on  it!  Do  what 
you  will:  it's  twelve  months  and  four  seasons  you've 
got  to  pull  through,  with  a  gang  of  ravenous  creatures 
who  watch  every  mouthful  you  eat.  Besides,  there's 
this  pack  here,  ready  to  drink  everything  a  man  earns. 
Ah!  you'd  make  fine  pigs:  you've  got  big  snouts  and 
you  don't  do  a  damn  thing!" 

"And  what  about  you,  Nono?" 

"Oh!  me!  I'm  worse  than  all  of  you,  believe  me! 
I'm  attacking  you,  and  yet  there  ain't  a  bigger  black- 
guard than  me  in  the  village.  ...  I  ain't  worth  much, 
I  ain't  even  perhaps  worth  this  miserable  Flon-Flon 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  19! 

who's  looking  at  me  and  laughing.  My  friends  .  .  . 
my  poor  friends  .  .  .  you're  laughing!  .  .  .  Oh! 
don't  laugh  .  .  .  You've  here  before  you  an  unhappy 
man,  a  man  whose  soul  is  shattered,  and  on  account 
of  whom  there's  a  wretched  woman  who's  dragging 
her  sorrow  from  place  to  place.  .  .  .  Poor  little 
Nenette!  .  .  .  Where  is  she?  Tell  me,  in  Dijon? 
They  all  tell  me  she's  now  back  in  Dijon.  I  hear  it 
so  often  that  there  must  be  some  truth  in  it.  She's 
in  Dijon  then?  .  .  .  Ah!  if  you've  seen  her,  tell  me 
whether  she's  still  young  .  .  .  whether  she  still  gads 
about,  singing  all  the  time  .  .  .  whether  she  still  has 
her  childlike  voice  and  eyes.  .  .  .  Tell  me  how  she  is 
exactly.  .  .  . 

"The  poor  child  was  very  nice  when  one  knew  how 
to  handle  her.  And  what  did  I  do,  I  kicked  her  out! 
That  was  quickly  done:  a  few  hasty  words  .  .  .  and 
then  out!  The  door  banged  behind  her;  and  at  once, 
three  beautiful  lives  were  torn  to  pieces:  hers  .  .  . 
hardly  good;  mine  .  .  .  wretched;  that  of  our  child 
.  .  .  worse  than  anything. 

"You're  laughing  to  your  heart's  content!  You're 
waiting  until  I  get  drunk  enough  to  tell  you  my  woes. 
That's  your  great  pleasure:  to  see  tears.  .  .  .  Well, 
look  at  'em !  .  .  .  Ah !  you  think  I  don't  guess  it  ?  Of 
course  I  do.  You  think  I'm  stupid?  Stupid.  ...  I 
am;  but  not  too  much.  I'm  just  enough:  not  too 
much,  and  not  too  little.  Just  enough  to  be  an  honest 
man,  and  not  rob  anybody.  But  you?  .  .  .  What  are 
you,  come  out  with  it ?  .  .  .  Are  you  Christians?  .  .  . 


192  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

No!  .  .  .  And  you're  right  in  saying  there  ain't  no 
God,  nor  an  Eternal  Soul.  And  the  socialist  municipal 
committee  was  quite  right  in  deciding  that  in  a  good 
Republic,  the  soul  must  croak  with  the  rest  of  the 
body.  But  what  will  the  Eternal  Father  indeed  do 
with  your  souls  ?  It's  quite  a  commodity  to  keep  fresh 
for  all  eternity!  Can  you  see  Flon-Flon  clad  as  a 
pure  spirit  in  a  corner  of  Paradise,  and  the  knave 
answering  'Halleluja'  when  they  ask  him  the  price  of 
wines!  .  .  .  We  all  live  under  the  same  banner  of 
cruelty  and  debauchery.  After  our  death,  if  there's 
someone  above,  among  the  stars,  let's  not  call  him! 
...  If  there's  an  owner  of  the  universe,  let  him  look 
after  his  business!  .  .  .  There's  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  showing  him  the  thread  of  our  souls. 

"Ah !  I  haven't  always  said  that.  But  now,  through 
being  with  you,  I've  reached  the  very  point  of  disgust 
and  despair.  You're  neither  men,  nor  beasts.  What 
else  will  you  have  me  tell  you?  I'm  shouting  at  you 
the  terrible  truth!  You're  all  rotten  beggars!  And 
if  one  of  you  budges,  I'll  break  his  jaw.  .  .  .  Let  no 
one  budge !  It's  understood,  eh  ?  All  right.  The  thing's 
done !  .  .  .  And  I'm  going.  .  .  .  I'm  going.  ..." 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  Nono  had  left,  there  was  a  hubbub  in  the 
cafe.  A  one-eyed  shepherd,  who  was  drinking  alone, 
exclaimed:  "He's  great,  that  customer!" 

"That's  the  man!"  asserted  Grele.  "He's  of  pure 
juice,  no  sugar  and  no  mixing !" 

Briquet,  very  drunk,  squeaked:  "My  friends!  That 
was  a  fine  scene.  I  laughed  to  my  heart's  content. 
But  I  laughed  within." 

"A  good  precaution,  friend." 

"What  do  you  mean  there,  you  fool?" 

But  Grele  continued  to  roll  in  silence  his  eternal 
cigarette.  This  calm  indifference  exasperated  the  lit- 
tle fellow,  grown  old  and  rancorous. 

"You  big  blackguard!  You're  done  for.  It's  good 
for  you.  Spit  with  blood!  .  .  .  spit!  .  .  .  You  big 
hop-pole  soaked  in  pig's  blood;  soon  you  won't  be 
seen  hanging  about  in  the  streets  squinting  with  your 
knavish  eyes.  You  can  laugh:  You'll  soon  be  with 
the  worms.  So  go  ahead  and  croak  at  once." 

"Oh!  Oh!"  exclaimed  the  shepherd,  "the  man  who 
was  here  a  while  ago  was  funnier  than  you." 

"You'd  soon  have  enough  of  him,"  said  Flon-Flon, 
"for  he's  always  the  same  idiot  and  the  same  blabber." 

"That's  nothing.    I'd  like  to  follow  him  for  a  day." 

Grele,  who  had  lost  nothing  of  his  waggish  assur- 

193 


194  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

ance,  moistened  his  cigarette  with  a  brisk  movement 
of  the  tongue,  closed  it  against  his  lip  and  began: 
"Friend,  if  you  want  to  follow  Nono  for  a  whole 
day,  you  must  be  up  before  the  chickens." 

"Before  the  chickens,  but  not  before  the  shepherds." 

"Before  all  beasts,  chickens  and  shepherds  included, 
there  ain't  a  morning  when  Nono  ain't  up,  peering 
about  as  early  as  two  o'clock:  'Ah!  by  heavens!  I've 
let  the  day  come.  And  to  think  that  I  wanted  to  put 
up  a  potf ul  of  soup !'  Thereupon  he  opens  the  shutter 
and  pokes  his  nose  out  into  the  dark  night :  'No !  The 
dawn  ain't  come  yet.  God's  still  sifting  his  grain.  But 
never  mind,  I'll  go  down  and  take  a  turn  in  the  yard.' ' 

"In  the  yard !  ...  At  that  hour !  .  .  .  But  what 
can  he  be  doing  there  ?" 

"He  roams  about.  He  goes  and  chats  with  the 
mule,  from  without,  through  the  door.  'Here  you  are, 
you  little  blackguard.  Sleep  a  bit.'  Then  the  donkey 
begins  to  bray.  'Keep  quiet,  you  little  rogue,  see  that 
you  ain't  a  little  rogue,  eh?'  And  desperate:  'Shut 
up,  rogue !  You're  waking  up  all  the  neighbors.  There, 
here's  a  beet-root  .  .  .  shut  up !'  All  of  a  sudden  a 
notion  runs  through  our  chap ;  he's  going  to  count  his 
rabbits :  'Bless  me !  they're  all  there !'  He  watches  'em 
caper  about,  gets  hold  of  the  mother  rabbit;  caresses 
its  white  belly:  'Oh!  she's  blooming  fat!  the  beasts 
are  lucky;  they  can  grow  fat  on  grass.  A  belly  like 
this  among  us  'd  cost  a  great  deal !'  But  now  he's  at 
it,  so  he  goes  to  pay  his  pig  a  visit.  He  caresses  its 
udder  and  scratches  its  belly.  You  can  well  imagine 
whether  the  pig  is  in  good  humor  on  waking.  But 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  195 

Nono  also  gets  angry :  'What  do  you  think !  It  wanted 
to  bite  me.  You  damned  brute!  I'll  get  square  with 
you  when  I'll  salt  you!' 

Finally,  after  having  roamed  about  everywhere,  en- 
raged the  animals,  gaped  at  the  moon,  listened  to  the 
dogs,  the  trains,  the  frogs,  and  after  having  foretold 
the  weather  ...  he  goes  upstairs  again.  He  wakes 
his  little  girl:  'Do  you  know,  little  one,  it's  already 
time  to  put  the  pot  of  soup  on  the  fire?'  Little 
Catherine  naturally  sends  him  away.  'Ah!  so  that's 
how  'tis,'  cries  Nono.  'I  can't  say  a  word  this  morn- 
ing without  being  called  down !  Well,  I'll  have  nothing 
to  do  with  nobody!  I'm  going  to  drink  a  glass  and 
have  my  breakfast  alone.'  And  now  our  man's  off 
to  the  cellar  with  two  bottles  under  his  arm.  That's 
how  his  day  of  drinking  starts.  .  .  .  All  day  long  he's 
always  near  the  cellar,  inviting  the  passers-by  to  help 
him  drink  his  wine  and  listen  to  his  endless  speeches/ 

"Shepherd!  .  .  .  That's  the  man.  .  .  .  Is  it  sur- 
prising, then,  that,  with  such  a  creature  about,  all  the 
people  of  this  cafe  are  become  drunken  louts !" 

They  all  laughed;  but  Flon-Flon  protested:  "He's 
exaggerating,  this  Grele.  There  ain't  a  worse  lout 
than  him !" 

"Do  I  exaggerate?" 

"Oh!  Why  sure!  .  .  .  Besides,  did  you  hear  Nono 
put  those  questions  to  his  mule?" 

"I  didn't  hear  the  questions,  but  I  heard  the  an- 
swers, for  the  mule  is  solid  when  it  comes  to  braying. 
And  then  Nono  tells  me  a  lot  of  things.  He  and  me 
are  chums." 


196  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"You  ain't  hard  to  please,  because  he's  a  great  don- 
key himself." 

"Old  man,  you  don't  always  say  that!  When  you 
have  some  produce  to  take  in,  you're  glad  to  find  the 
man  and  the  donkey  and  hardly  pay  'em.  And  there's 
more  than  one  here  who  can  laugh  at  the  innocent 
fellow,  but  still  better  use  him  for  nothing." 

"But  let  him  ask  to  be  paid!  And  besides,"  con- 
cluded Flon-Flon  "...  there's  no  pity  for  lame 
ducks." 

But  there  is  another  Nono  besides  the  waggish  fel- 
low who  diverts  people.  That  Nono  is  born  and  dies 
every  day.  He  lives  but  for  several  hours,  during 
which  he  works  at  his  vines  and  fields  and  walks  along 
the  paths  pensively.  Here  he  is  in  his  field  of  the 
Marais,  this  Nono,  who  only  last  night,  in  the  cafe, 
made  his  chums  laugh  so  heartily.  Here  he  is,  amidst 
the  fields  and  swaying  grass,  sitting  wrapped  in 
thought  at  the  edge  of  a  ditch,  his  long  legs  stretched 
out  on  the  wild  mint  and  the  reeds.  .  .  .  Here  he  is 
with  his  constant  dream. 

...  At  the  bottom  of  the  ditch  still  breathes  a 
little  spring  that  is  feebly  rippling.  All  around  Nono 
there  is  deep  solitude.  Man  is  far  off  with  his  heart 
monstrously  indifferent.  Here,  in  the  Marais,  are  only 
things  that  remain  inoffensive  after  great  hardships: 
stretches  of  dry  land,  dead  gardens  and  Nono's  soul, 
full  of  misery. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  following  Sunday,  on  the  approach  of  evening, 
a  man  of  Brochon  met  Nono  on  the  road  to  the  sta- 
tion. Nono  was  wandering  along  the  slope  of  the 
road ;  he  gesticulated  and  talked  to  himself.  The  man 
listened : 

"...  But    in    all    good    justice,    it's    him    who 

should' ve    married    her..  .  .  And    then,    mind    that! 

» 

Nono  shook  his  finger  with  the  grotesque  solemnity 
of  a  drunkard.  His  body  swayed  forward,  over- 
balanced by  drink. 

"...  Mind  that!  .  .  .  she'd  Ve  been  Madame 
Renardin.  There's  no  doubt  about  that:  Madame 
Renardin.  I  insist  upon  it.  ...  And  then,  let's  follow 
it  up  closely!  .  .  .  Madame  Renardin  we've  said,  eh? 
.  .  .  And  where'd  I  come  in  ?  ...  Ah !  that's  the  real 
question.  I  don't  want  to  brag,  but  I  could've  played 
a  much  prouder  part  than  they  think  in  the  village. 
.  .  .  But  who'd  Ve  been  the  betrayed  husband?  Not 
me.  Quite  the  contrary;  I'd  Ve  been  the  cunning 
fellow.  .  .  .  But  you'll  say:  'A  good  cuckold  and  a 
bad  widower  are  on  a  par.'  .  .  .  And  here  we  agree. 
That  was  my  idea  from  the  very  beginning.  ..." 

"What  are  you  raving  about?  .  .  .  This  sounds  like 

197 


198  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

a  buffoon's  speech!  You're  drunk,  my  friend!"  said 
the  man  from  Brochon. 

Nono  was  accused  often  enough  of  being  a 
drunkard ;  but  this  time  he  took  it  tragically. 

"Ah!  .  .  .  Ah  yes!  My  friend,  you've  queer  ideas. 
You  mean  to  say  that  I'm  drunk!  You've  a  strange 
way  of  reasoning.  Look  for  once  into  the  white  of 
my  eye.  .  .  .  Hm !  .  .  .  Drunk,  me !  .  .  .  Poor  fool ! 
.  .  .  Why,  I  didn't  take  a  dram.  How  can  I  be  drunk  ? 
Unless  the  air  have  some  spirits  I  don't  see  with  what 
I  could' ve  got  drunk.  And  then,  listen,  my  friend. 
Drunk.  ...  I  can't  be.  I  ain't.  ...  I  ain't  .  .  . 
that  ends  it.  ...  But  there's  something  that  makes 
my  soul  and  body  writhe  terribly.  .  .  .  But  listen  and 
answer  my  question:  That  Nenette,  ain't  she  a 
wretched  creature?  .  .  .  Think  of  it  ...  to  come 
back  to  Dijon,  a  stone's  throw  from  here !  .  .  .  Ain't 
that  enough  to  demoralize  you  too?  ...  I  say  it's 
knavish!  She's  more  of  a  criminal  than  Satan!  .  .  . 
Not  Satan  when  he's  off  his  job,  but  Satan  when 
he's  in  the  fight,  hard  at  work.  Yes  it's  the  trick  of 
a  rascal.  For  you  know  how  she's  departed  from 
here.  She  didn't  leave  in  a  very  fine  way.  Why  come 
back  to  Dijon,  then?  .  .  .  right  near  my  house.  .  .  . 
Oh !  that's  the  way  of  a  Judas !  I  can't  forgive  it.  ... 
Oh!  don't  try  to  calm  me  ...  leave  me  alone!" 

"My  friend,  let's  admit  you  ain't  drunk,  and  that 
it's  cold  water  that's  gone  to  your  head.  But  if  you 
ain't  drunk,  you're  mighty  cracked." 

"Yes,  I'm  a  little  cracked.    There's  indeed  some- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  199 

thing  gnawing  at  me  within  that's  driving  me  mad. 
Listen:  there,  in  the  station  cafe,  when  I  stopped  to 
have  a  drink,  I  learnt  just  now  a  simple  and  terrible 
thing.  I  met  there  two  men:  a  fireman  and  a  machinist 
both  of  'em  with  a  railway  locomotive.  And  the  fire- 
man, who's  a  man  with  a  remarkable  mind,  and  who 
has  received  an  education  .  .  .  where  do  you  think 
he  lives,  my  friend  .  .  .  where?  ...  In  Dijon,  same 
street,  same  house,  same  floor  as  Renardin  and  that 
woman  .  .  .  who  bears  my  name!  In  the  eyes  of  the 
law,  my  friend,  she's  Jeanne  Jacquelinet.  .  .  .  For 
there  was  no  divorce;  too  poor  for  that;  too  stupid. 
.  .  .  Jeanne  Jacquelinet,  do  you  hear?  .  .  .  Call  her 
by  that  name,  and  she'll  answer  .  .  .  she'll  dare  to 
answer.  In  the  eyes  of  the  law,  she's  that;  but  in 
my  eyes  she  ain't  Jeanne.  Jeanne  was  a  little  curly 
head,  a  clever  thing;  but  a  loyal  and  loving  darling. 
She  ain't  Jacquelinet  neither.  .  .  .  Oh  no !  It's  a  good 
name,  borne  for  centuries  by  a  fine  family.  Then, 
she  ain't  neither  Jeanne  nor  Jacquelinet.  What  is  she 
then?  .  .  .  She  ain't  a  being;  she  ain't  a  daughter 
of  the  soil.  But  she's  a  daughter  of  Satan;  she's  a 
demon  who  was  bored,  and  who's  come  to  poach 
secretly." 

Nono  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  His 
lanky  body  was  reeling,  as  he  threatened  imaginary 
adversaries  with  his  raised  arm.  In  his  eyes,  sickly 
and  shrunken,  there  was  a  faint  wandering  look.  His 
inexpressive  face  was  drawn  with  agony.  .  .  .  The 
man  pitied  him. 


200  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Come,  my  friend  Nono,  Nono  of  Les  Baraques  of 
Gevrey,  let's  go  to  the  village  together.  Let's  go,  I 
say.  Give  me  your  arm." 

But  Nono  freed  himself  violently  with  a  push 
of  his  shoulder;  and  his  arm  stretched  out,  gnashing 
his  teeth,  he  went  on,  stressing  each  word  with  wild 
energy: 

"...  She  has  murdered  twice:  she  was  the  mur- 
deress of  her  daughter,  Laurette!  .  .  .  My  proof  is 
yonder,  halfway  up  the  hill,  in  the  cemetery  of  En- 
songe.  .  .  .  That's  one.  .  .  .  But  she  murdered 
again!  she  has  killed  my  mind.  And  now,  you  look 
at  me  with  pity,  eh?  Who  made  of  me  this  brute 
that  I  am?  Not  my  mother  .  .  .  not  my  father.  It's 
her  betrayal  ...  a  betrayal  well  planted !  .  .  .  There, 
bang!  .  .  .  and  Nono's  a  cuckold!  .  .  .  And  there 
are  people  who  think  it's  funny!  .  .  . 

"Ah  yes!  The  man  who's  talking  to  you  has  per- 
haps drunk  a  bit  after  all,  without  realizing  it.  But 
there's  something  else.  To  get  to  such  a  state  of 
sottishness,  you  must  be  helped.  I  was  helped.  I 
was  given  a  good  hand.  Believe  me,  there's  drunken- 
ness, but  there's  sorrow  too!  Let  go,  my  friend!  go 
your  own  way!  But  listen  to  this  one  thing.  I  had 
pardoned  the  creature  who's  done  all  that.  Indeed, 
I'd  got  to  believe  that  she'd  suffered  for  it.  I'd  got 
to  love  her  again.  Twenty  years  with  a  Renardin  is 
a  serious  penitence,  thought  I.  When  she'll  return, 
I'll  say  to  her  simply  this:  'I  don't  ask  you  where  you 
come  from,  Nenette.  For  me,  you've  just  lost  your. 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  201 

way,  and  you're  tired.  During  my  stay  alone,  I  didn't 
let  my  friendship  die ;  therefore,  here's  your  old  home 
.  .  .  rest  here/ 

"Instead  of  that,  my  friend,  here  she  is  in  a  narrow 
street,  fourth  floor,  right  near  here!  It's  a  house  of 
revelry  and  debauchery :  she's  there !  .  .  .  She's  there, 
nicely  curled  and  done  up,  like  a  real  harlot!  She 
makes  money — she's  providing  for  herself — the  cursed 
creature!  .  .  .  But  walk  on.  Don't  look  at  a  man 
who's  crying.  ...  Go  your  own  way.  .  .  .  ' 

"Come,  come,  my  poor  fellow!   Don't  cry  so." 

"Right  in  Dijon,  my  friend!  And  perhaps  they'll 
be  in  Gevrey  to-morrow!  .  .  .  Ah!  how  miserable  I 
am!  When  thinking  of  her,  I  saw  her  wretched  and 
repentant,  and  my  heart'd  open  and  be  ready  to  re- 
ceive her  again.  Instead  of  that,  there's  a  slut  ready 
for  the  first  comer.  .  .  .  Ugh!  don't  speak  to  me  of 
that  woman:  she's  a  Prussian!  .  .  .  ' 

"Come  now!  calm  yourself.  Go  home.  Do  you 
hear?  .  .  .  You  must  go  home!" 

"Hey  there!  Don't  use  that  tone  of  command,  for 
you're  running  into  danger.  .  .  .  I've  lived,  and  I've 
suffered.  My  heart's  torn  to  pieces  by  something  worse 
than  death.  Therefore,  shut  up!  ...  Here  are  these 
two  criminals  in  Dijon.  Who'll  stop  'em  from  coming 
to  Gevrey?  And  then  can  you  imagine?  .  .  .  Sup- 
pose I  meet  on  the  road  the  two  traitors  of  my  life! 
Suppose  I  meet,  by  mere  chance,  that  woman  who 
lived  in  my  house,  who's  loved  me  when  in  my  arms, 
who's  given  me  a  child!  .  .  .  That  ain't  possible.  I 


202  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

tell  you  there'll  be  a  tragedy  here.  Tell  it  to  the  vil- 
lage. Don't  hide  nothing.  A  tragedy!  .  .  .  yes,  a 
tragedy!  .  .  .  I'll  have  her  life  .  .  .  her  skin.  Ah!  a 
beautiful  skin:  the  skin  of  a  harlot!  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  however,  gradually  grew  calmer.  On  ap- 
proaching the  village,  he  no  longer  uttered  a  word. 
His  companion  was  talking  now,  and  Nono  was  listen- 
ing meekly  to  the  remonstrance  of  his  friend.  To 
hear  better,  Nono  bent  somewhat  his  long  body  and 
with  his  arms  dangling  he  had  his  usual  bewildered  air. 
He  approved  everything  the  man  told  him  by  nodding 
his  head  with  such  admiration  that  it  made  him 
stagger. 

"...  Yes,  my  poor  fellow,  they're  jeering  at  you. 
.  .  .  They've  turned  your  head  with  that  story  of 
Renardin.  .  .  .  They've  invented  it  so  as  to  laugh  at 
yoU.  ...  I  can't  say  your  wife  ain't  in  Dijon.  It 
seems  that  she's  indeed  there ;  but  as  to  her  being  rich, 
that's  quite  another  matter.  .  .  .  And  as  to  Renardin 
.  .  .  that  one  I  know  where  to  find.  ..." 

"Ah!  .  .  .  Where?  ..." 

"You'll  find  him  on  the  Plombieres  Road  ...  in 
the  madhouse.  I've  an  unhappy  brother  there,  as  you 
know;  but  Renardin  is  also  there.  .  .  .  ' 

"Then  he  got  the  notion  of  losing  his  mind?" 

"A  strong  notion  indeed;  they  needed  four  men  to 
hold  him  down !" 

"Oh !  what  an  idea !  .  .  .  Ah !  he's  mad !  .  .  .  Very 
good.  Oh!  how  I'd  like  to  see  him  break  his  teeth! 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  203 

.  .  .  Let's  go  and  spread  the  good  news  in  the  village. 
» 

"You  better  remain  quiet.  .  .  .  ' 

"But  so  many  people  ask  me  for  news  about  my  old 
wife.  That'd  be  a  good  way  of  telling  'em." 

"Come,  my  poor  Jacquelinet!  Don't  talk  so  much 
about  your  wife,  and  stop  being  a  fool.  Pretend  not 
to  care  for  her  when  they  talk  to  you  about  her ;  they'd 
let  you  alone  if  they'd  see  that  you  don't  think  any 
more  of  your  wife.  .  .  .  ' 

The  good  man  from  Brochon  gave  him  still  other 
but  similar  counsels.  When  the  two  new  friends  were 
about  to  separate,  Nono  grasped  his  companion's  hands 
and  shook  them  with  the  touching  tenderness  of  a 
drunkard: 

"Friend!  .  .  .  Although  you're  from  Brochon, 
you're  a  kind  fellow  and  a  good  adviser.  Besides,  I 
know  and  I  love  your  town.  But  there's  a  thing  I 
reproach  you  with:  you  never  come  to  make  me  treat 
you  to  a  bite  and  a  drink  at  four  o'clock!  .  .  .  Ah! 
that's  knavish!  .  .  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

NONO  had,  indeed  promised  to  simulate  indifference ; 
but  events  were  stronger  than  his  resolutions.  The 
Sunday  which  followed  his  meeting  with  the  man 
from  Brochon,  another  man  from  La  Jeannotte 
brought  some  news  which  put  Nono  in  a  great  flurry. 
This  man  was  a  poor  creature  who  tried  to  get  all 
kinds  of  odd  jobs  in  order  to  be  able  to  feed  his  lazy 
wife.  He  had  just  worked  at  Dijon  in  a  tannery, 
where  he  had  seen  Renardin  and  Nenette.  They  went 
to  fetch  Nono  in  great  haste.  They  plied  this  "Jean- 
jean,"  as  the  man  from  La  Jeannotte  was  called,  with 
questions;  but  they  had  to  wrench  every  word  from 
him,  for  he  was  one  of  those  who  never  hurry.  His 
weak  voice,  that  of  a  poor  fellow  resigned  to  his  fate, 
did  not  utter  one  word  louder  than  the  other.  This 
especially  exasperated  Nono. 

"By  heavens!  .  .  .  but  how  did  this  damned  Ren- 
ardin look?" 

"Ah !  I  don't  know.  He  looked  like  everybody  else. 
.  .  .  He  looked  like  a  man  who's  sitting  .  .  .  who  is 
calm.  .  .  .  He  was  watching  us  work.  .  .  .  That 
amused  him.  .  .  .  ' 

"But  ain't  he  mad  no  more?  Ain't  he  no  more  at 
Chartreux?  ..." 

204 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  205 

"Ah !  he  was  there  a  while  .  .  .  not  very  long.  The 
doctor  of  the  madmen  declared  him  to  be  a  drunkard ; 
but  he  was  a  rotten  doctor.  Renardin  told  us  that 
he  was  merely  a  little  nervous  from  the  noise  of  a 
smithy  next  door  to  him.  They  let  him  go.  ...  But 
his  chest  began  to  bother  him,  and  he  had  to  go  to 
the  hospital." 

"They  put  him  out  of  the  hospital,  didn't  they?  I 
tell  you  there  ain't  a  place  upon  earth  where  they'd 

want  to  keep  that  blackguard  longer  than  three  days. 

» 

"Oh  no!  Oh  no!"  Jeanjean  quietly  protested.  "If 
he  left  the  hospital  it's  because  he  wanted  to.  They're 
dogs  in  that  hospital,  it  seems,  Renardin  told  us  all 
about  it.  'When  there's  a  poor  corpse,'  he  said,  'that 
can't  hardly  defend  himself,  the  sawbones  come  with 
their  tools;  and  they  begin  to  cut  him  up  as  if  he  were 
some  salad.'  He  got  out.  .  .  .  He  did  well.  He  was 
too  honest  to  remain  there.  .  .  .  ' 

"Too  honest!  ..."  shouted  Nono,  "that  one  too 
honest!  His  only  regret  was  not  to  be  able  to  tell 
two  lies  at  the  same  time.  But  at  least  one  followed 
the  other." 

"Oh !  you  mustn't  talk  that  way.  .  .  .  We  like  him. 
We  used  to  see  him  sit  quietly  on  his  steps  and  look 
at  us,  and  so  we  got  to  talk  to  him.  He  often  spoke 
of  Gevrey  and  of  his  old  business  as  a  hog  dealer. 
That's  how  I  knew  who  he  was.  I  told  him  what  I 
knew  of  him.  Oh !  he  didn't  hide  a  thing.  .  .  .  'Yes. 
...  I  was  somewhat  of  a  knave,'  said  he.  'What 


206  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

could  I  do?  Those  sluttish  women  were  all  after  me; 
and  now  because  I've  tried  to  please  'em  all,  I'm  done 
for!'  Then  he'd  begin  to  cough  and  spit;  and  his 
wife'd  bring  him  something  to  drink  which  he  sipped 
seated  on  the  steps." 

"His  wife!  .  .  .  But  by  heavens!  she  ain't  his 
wife!"  protested  Nono  violently. 

"That's  what  I've  been  telling  the  others.  But  they 
wouldn't  believe  me  when  I  told  'em  she  was  mar- 
ried to  Jacquelinet  at  Gevrey." 

"Ah!  And  why  should  they've  believed  you?  You 
little  idiot !  Do  you  fancy  for  a  moment  that  a  little 
wench  like  that  has  the  right  to  my  name  just  as  if 
I'd  made  her  ?  .  .  .  What  an  idea  to  go  about  braying 
that  she's  called  ']acquelinet !'  " 

They  calmed  Nono. 

"To  be  sure,  I  don't  give  a  hang.  But  ain't  I  right  ? 
I've  been  waiting  for  news  these  twenty  years,  and 
now  a  ninny  like  this  must  be  the  one  to  bring  it  so 
stupidly !" 

"Don't  get  angry,  Jacquelinet,"  went  on  the  peace- 
ful Jeanjean.  "The  others  didn't  believe  me  when  I 
told  'em  she  was  the  wife  of  another  man.  'Go  on,' 
they  answered.  'If  she  wasn't  his  wife,  nailed  to  him 
by  the  mayor  and  the  cure  ...  do  you  think  she'd 
keep  on  nursing  a  dying  man  who  treats  her  like  a 
dog?  She's  unhappily  married  and  a  poor  miserable 
woman  .  .  .  that's  all.' ' 

"Ah !"  asked  Nono.  .  .  .  "Does  that  blackguard  by 
chance  beat  her  too?" 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  207 

"Not  exactly.  .  .  .  But  he  told  her  a  thing  or  two." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Why  I  don't  know.  ...  I  didn't  pay  any  atten- 
tion. .  .  .  However,  I  remember  we  once  laughed 
heartily.  He  had  just  sworn  at  her  violently:  'Get  out 
of  here!  Clear  out,  you  old  flea!'  he  shouted  to  her. 
And  he  calls  a  young  apprentice :  'Hey  there !  Parigot 
la  Crotte!  there's  twenty  sous:  go  and  fetch  me  an- 
other wife.'  But  the  boy  ain't  stupid,  he  said:  'Oh! 
for  that  price  I  can  fetch  even  two.  Only,  how  do 
you  like  'em?  .  .  .  Thin.  .  .  .  Fat  ...  or  just 
mixed?  .  .  .  ' 

'  'Fat  ones !  by  heavens !  .  .  .  I've  been  twenty 
years  with  a  bony  wretch !  .  .  .  I've  enough !  Now  I 

want   a    real   change!'       We  ...  oh!  we  laughed! 
>» 

"Oh !  what  a  pity !"  said  Nono  sadly.  "The  woman 
must've  looked  unhappy,  eh?" 

"Oh!  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  She  didn't  look  happy 
.  .  .  after  that!" 

"But  look  here!  she  didn't  say  anything?  .  .  .  She 
didn't  fight?  .  .  .  For  I  know  her:  she's  very  sensi- 
tive about  what  she's  told." 

"Upon  my  faith,  what  do  you  want,  I  don't  re- 
member! And  then,  you'll  see  for  yourself,  because 
you're  going  perhaps  to  see  'em  soon  right  here  in 
the  village.  .  .  .  ' 

"What?  .  .  .  What  are  you  saying?" 

"Yes,  Renarclin  told  me  he'll  ask  to  be  taken  into 
the  hospital  here.  I  think  he's  had  this  in  mind  for 


208  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

a  long  time;  only  shame  held  him  back.  But  now 
he's  nothing  to  lose.  'Yes,'  he  said  to  me,  'I  can't 
croak  here  in  the  hands  of  the  butchers.  I'd  like  to 
die  in  my  village.'  And  he  spoke  of  sending  a  request 
to  the  Council." 

Old  Voisin,  municipal  councilor  of  Les  Baraques, 
was  present.  They  questioned  him:  "Is  the  thing 
possible?" 

"But  why  not?  After  all,  he  was  born  here.  Only, 
he'll  have  to  come  at  his  own  expense." 

The  matter  was  discussed  at  great  length. 

"Ah !"  said  Nono.  "Ah !  you're  going  to  think  I'm 
hard  hearted.  If  it  was  for  others,  I'd  say:  'Hitch 
up  the  donkey,  and  let's  go  and  fetch  the  two  unhappy 
children  of  the  village/  But  for  them  ...  no !  Those 
two  beings  have  brought  too  much  misery  upon  me 
in  my  life!" 

"Yes!  I'll  do  this!  ...  No!  I'll  do  that!  ..." 
said  Nono.  Indeed,  he  incessantly  made  different 
resolutions.  At  times,  he  would  yield  to  his  weakness 
and  sermonize  naively:  "Let  that  poor  creature  who's 
done  you  no  ill  alone!  .  .  .  She's  nursing  a  dying 
man:  it's  her  duty.  .  .  .  She's  an  unfortunate  woman. 
.  .  .  That's  all.  .  .  .  Go  your  own  way." 

When  in  another  mood,  heated  up  by  some  vile 
creature  of  the  village,  Nono  would  shout  angrily: 
"Ha!  the  slut!  .  .  .  She  was  shamefaced  enough  to 
come  back  to  the  village !  .  .  .  The  Town  Council  had 
the  heart  to  let  two  such  rogues  return  to  the  com- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  209 

mune,  and  shelter  'em  for  nothing  in  our  hospital — 
especially  to  keep  one  to  nurse  the  other !  .  .  .  There 
was  a  carriage  and  a  coachman  to  bring  us  that  from 
Dijon!  ..." 

In  vain  did  the  kind  Catherine,  his  confidential  and 
excellent  friend,  try  to  calm  him:  "Oh!  .  .  .  None 
of  that  talk !  .  .  .  She's  worn  out,  you  say !  .  .  .  But 
worn  out  from  what?  .  .  .  Not  from  digging,  any- 
how! ..." 

Catherine  then  related  to  him  what  she  had  learned 
of  Nenette's  pitiful  existence.  These  last  nineteen 
years  Nenette  was  earning,  by  hard  and  honest  toil, 
a  wretched  livelihood.  She  got  up  at  two  in  the  morn- 
ing every  day,  and  did  all  that  her  tiring  business  of 
second-hand  clothes  dealer  exacted. 

But  Nono  did  not  relent:  "Oh!  ...  Oh!  ... 
Second-hand  clothes  dealer!  .  .  .  And  what  next? 
.  .  .  That  was  only  by  mere  chance.  All  those  town 
trades  which  are  carried  on  with  a  cart  are  for  useless 
and  lazy  people!  .  .  .  Let  those  carters  try  and  dig 
the  soil!  .  .  .  Oh  yes!  ...  If  they  were  given  land 
just  as  they  get  a  writing  set!  ...  But  so  long  as 
it's  necessary  to  work  the  land  with  bent  back  and 
sinews — they'll  keep  away!  .  .  .  ' 

On  another  day,  Nono,  less  vehement  and  more 
moved,  did  not  hide  from  Catherine  that  he  was  very 
much  irritated. 

"Catherine!  .  .  .  Listen.  ...  I  tell  you  frankly, 
but  don't  repeat  it:  I  had  some  hope For  a 


210  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

whole  week  I've  been  by  the  hospital  again  and  again, 
with  the  mule,  three  or  four  times  a  day.  .  .  .  They've 
seen  us,  haven't  they  .  .  .  Well,  not  one  word  came 
from  there  to  say  to  us:  'Forgive  me !'  or  else:  'Come !' 
Not  one  word !  .  .  .  Not  a  look !  .  .  .  I  got  nothing ! 
.  .  .  Nothing  budged  for  me  in  that  house,  where 
there's  all  my  hate  and  all  my  love!  .  .  .  It's  worse 
than  a  morgue  for  me.  Well,  they  really  don't  give 
a  rap  about  me!  .  .  .  ' 

And  Nono  complained  of  the  cruelty  of  destiny: 
"Catherine !  now  I  ain't  got  the  right  to  hate  her,  nor 
to  forgive  her.  .  .  .  That's  what  I've  come  to!  ... 
She  don't  want  to  know  me.  She  denies  me  more 
than  if  I  was  dead !  I  never  thought  I  could  suffer  so 
much!  .  .  .  Never  did  I  think  that  God'd  be  so  nasty 
to  me!  .  .  .  No,  never.  ...  I  never  would've 
thought  that  of  -Him !  .  .  .  " 

What  was  bound  to  happen  took  place.  One  even- 
ing, Nono  was  walking  home  from  the  Marais.  He 
was  going  up  the  Avenue  de  la  Gare,  almost  hidden 
beneath  the  tops  of  the  faded  lime  trees.  Through 
the  vines,  the  scattered  frail  peach  and  round  cherry- 
trees  gently  yielded  to  the  blowing  fresh  wind  their 
frilled  leaves.  La  Cote,  where  the  darkness  was 
mingled  with  smoke  and  vapor,  was  taking  on  the 
life  of  the  night ;  and,  on  the  waste  lands  of  the  sum- 
mits, the  grayish  curves  of  the  roads  lay  like  arms 
bent  by  fatigue. 

The  little  mule  was  jogging  along;  and  Nono  let 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  211 

him  keep  up  his  ancient  gait.  "My  best  companion," 
said  Nono.  "He  gnashes  his  teeth  like  a  tiger,  but 
he  ain't  arrogant,  and  he  has  a  warm  heart,  too." 
Indeed,  did  not  this  companion  alone  remain  faithful 
to  Nono?  Life  had  passed  like  a  scorching  summer; 
and  a  belated  appeasing  wind  was  blowing  now  on  a 
withered  soul  and  on  faded  days.  At  the  square  of 
Les  Baraques,  there  is  the  bustle  of  the  housewives 
who  come  for  their  bread,  the  winegrowers  who  are 
going  home,  the  children  who  are  driving  cattle  from 
the  pastures.  The  women  who  dress  the  vines  have 
taken  their  hoods  off ;  and  under  their  arms,  rolled  up 
in  a  green  linen  apron,  they  are  carrying  the  straw 
they  picked  up  on  the  way.  One  can  scent  the  odors 
of  the  hay-stacks  and  the  stables. 

And  Nono,  at  the  very  end  of  the  long  cart,  looks 
at  the  goers  and  comers,  from  the  height  of  his  eternal 
innocence.  He  soliloquizes,  according  to  his  wont, 
on  the  different  persons  he  happens  to  notice. 

"Oh !  little  sluttish  Poincenotte !  Hardly  fifteen  years, 
and  already  gossiping  at  the  fountains!  .  .  .  Ah! 
that's  youth!  .  .  .  That  little  blackguard  Pierrot,  he 
won't  drive  his  cows  aside  to  let  me  pass!  .  .  .  Poor 
old  Carbasse:  it's  nice  of  him  to  grow  old  that  way, 
for  he's  got  a  good  daughter  who  loves  him.  .  .  . 
But  why  the  deuce  did  she  marry  a  quill-driver  who 
figures  the  gas  in  town?  It's  always  the  same  story: 
they  don't  like  to  milk  cows.  .  .  .  Ah!  .  .  .  But 
who's  that  one  there?  .  .  .  Our  Catherine  seems  to 
talk  kindly  to  her.  .  .  .  Who's  that?  .  .  .  Can  that 


212  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

be?  ...  No!  ...  But  .  .  .  anyhow  .  .  .  ain't  it 
that  Nenette  who's  coming  back  from  the  errands  she 
does  for  the  hospital,  eh?  Oh  no!  confound  it!  ... 
I  was  afraid.  .  .  .  But  I've  never  seen  that  wretched 
specter." 

The  flat  car  was  gradually  advancing,  so  that  Nono 
was  able  to  contemplate  the  face  of  the  poor  woman. 
But  he  could  not  exactly  give  a  name  to  the  sorry- 
looking  person.  No,  she  had  not  the  features  of  a 
face  he  recognized — that  wan  complexion,  those  woolly 
cheeks,  that  curly  head  with  the  plait  above  .  .  .  that 
masculine  nose.  .  .  .  "And  in  spite  of  that,"  said 
Nono  to  himself,  "she  don't  look  so  bad  with  her 
big  vicar's  nose.  .  .  .  And  yet  she  has  an  air  that 
I  know.  .  .  .  Where  the  deuce  have  I  seen  her?  .  .  . 
Ain't  she  from  Morey?  .  .  .  Oh!  I  know  her  .  .  . 
there  are  poor  eyes  for  you !  .  .  .  I  say !  .  .  .  I  say ! 

n 

Suddenly,  his  heart  contracted:  Great  God!  .  .  . 
The  eyes  that  the  woman  raised  towards  him  still  had 
the  fire  of  youth !  .  .  . 

"Yes,  that's  how  I  recognized  her,  my  poor  Cath- 
erine. She  looked  at  me  with  eyes  that  still  sparkled 
the  way  they  did  at  fifteen.  .  .  .  That's  her,  believe 
me!  ...  I  recognized  her.  .  .  .  Where  others 
would've  seen  the  old  age  and  misery  in  her  thin  body, 
I've  seen  something  that  ain't  herself  .  .  .  the  way  she 
moves,  the  eyes,  the  youthful  way  of  hers  that  I  still 
love.  .  .  " 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  213 

"Don't  cry,  my  poor  Jacquot,"  says  Catherine.  She 
calms  him  with  kind  words,  offers  him  a  dram  to  raise 
his  spirits,  and  makes  him  sit  down.  She  has  brought 
him  to  her  house,  for  no  sooner  did  this  poor,  innocent 
Nono  descend  from  his  cart  than  he  wanted  to  run 
after  his  Nenette !  .  .  .  "I've  something  to  tell  her  .  .  . 
a  parting  word  from  her  daughter.  .  .  .  Look  here, 
don't  run  away  .  .  .  wretch!  ..."  Then  Catherine 
had  taken  hold  of  his  arm,  and  led  him  off  by  sheer 
force,  staggering  and  raving. 

And  now  that  Nono  is  calm,  he  gives  vent  to  his 
feelings.  "Oh!  Catherine!  .  .  .  How  one  can  age, 
and  how  one  can  change!  .  .  .  I've  known  her  when 
she  was  a  mere  buttercup;  and  now  to  find  her  so! 
.  .  .  He,  at  least  had  warned  me:  I'd  guessed  who 
he  was,  when  I  saw  him  the  day  before  yesterday, 
through  the  bars  of  the  hospital,  bleeding  and  fleshless 
as  though  flayed.  ...  As  soon  as  I  saw  him,  I  had 
a  name  for  him.  .  .  .  But  death  calls  him  louder  than 
me;  therefore  I've  no  more  grudge  against  him.  .  .  . 
But  she,  the  wretched  woman !  .  .  .  Nobody'd  warned 
me.  .  .  .  Can  one  age  that  way!  .  .  .  Did  you  know 
her  in  her  youth?  .  .  .  One  afternoon,  we  were  mak- 
ing hay  together  in  the  Riguad  meadow.  .  .  .  But  no, 

I  can't  tell  you  that:  it'd  tear  my  heart  to  pieces! 

» 
•  •  • 

"The  poor  woman's  not  happy,"  interrupted  Cath- 
erine.   "She's  paid  dearly.  .  .   .  She  told  me  her  life. 
.  Oh !  how  she  had  suffered !  .  .  .  The  scoundrel'd 


214  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

beat  her  with  all  his  might.  .  .  .  But  she's  been  feed- 
ing him  these  eighteen  years.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  don't  tell  me  more.  ...  Be  quiet!  ...  Oh 
misery!  .  .  .  Oh  my  Catherine!  that's  a  sad  life.  The 
night  when  the  poor  child  wanted  to  die,  I  should've 
let  her  do  her  will.  .  .  .  For  see  what  the  wind  from 
Dijon  brings  back  to  us  after  nineteen  years!  -.  .  .  Oh 
Catherine!  I  knew  that  buttercup!  .  .  .  Catherine, 
listen,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something  that  I  oughtn't 
to  tell  you;  but  you  know  .  .  .  the  one  who  didn't 
get  her  caresses  when  she  was  twenty  .  .  .  who  didn't 
hear  her  that  night,  when  we  loved,  murmur  'Jacquot' 
.  .  .  don't  know  what  passion  there  can  be  in  the  life 
of  a  man.  .  .  .  Do  you  remember  her  in  her  youth? 
.  .  .  Any  good  man  who'd 've  seen  her'd 've  said: 'She 
goes  right  to  my  heart  and  soul.' ' 

"Come,  come,  my  Nono  .  .  .  have  a  little  courage !" 
"What  do  you  mean?  .  .  .  It's  stupid.  .  .  .  Why 
of  course  I  will.  I  don't  need  none.  I've  nothing  to 
do  with  that  woman,  and  if  any  should  brag  me  about 
her  I'll  tell  him  to  go  hang  himself.  No,  I've  nothing 
to  say  to  the  woman.  ...  I  needn't  see  her.  .  .  . 
The  despair  that  takes  hold  of  me  don't  come  from 
her.  .  .  .  It's  from  my  daughter,  it's  from  myself 
.  .  .  it's  from  all  of  us  here  below  who  struggle  under 
this  empty  sky  and  the  burden  of  our  years,  without 
even  a  poor  God  to  give  us  a  bit  of  justice.  .  .  .  Look 
here!  I've  worked  myself  to  death  at  thirty  acres  of 
vines  and  three  acres  of  fields  during  forty-seven 
years!  .  .  .  Now  I  say  there  ain't  justice!  .  .  . 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  215 

There's  nothing  .  .  .  nothing  but  the  wretched  vines 
and  a  rotten  universe  ...  a  great  nothingness  burned 
by  a  worthless  sun  .  .  .  misfortune  for  honest  peo- 
ple ...  and  good  luck  for  knaves!  .  .  . 

"Just  look  at  the  weather  we're  having!  .  .  .  You 
think  such  a  drought  ain't  disgusting!  .  .  .  What  can 
I  do?  I'm  going  to  fill  my  vats  with  water  anyhow. 
.  .  .  You'll  say  it's  a  bit  soon.  But  what's  the  use 
of  waiting?  We  must  get  ready  to  gather  in  the 
grapes,  even  when  there's  no  rain  coming.  But  it's 
unfortunate.  Indeed,  tell  me:  A  grape  having  come 
without  being  moistened  by  a  sprinkle  of  rain  ...  a 
grape  that  hasn't  felt  the  sweetness  of  dew  .  .  .  can 
that  grape  be  a  true  offspring  of  the  earth?  .  .  .  No. 
.  .  .  Remember  what  I  foretell,  Catherine:  If  the 
rain  that  softens  don't  come  .  .  .  that  wine'll  be  as 
bitter  as  a  bastard." 

When  Nono  had  returned  to  his  yard,  his  neighbors 
questioned  him:  "Well!  it  seems  that  you've  again 

seen  your  little  wife  to-day?  .  .  .  Has  she  changed? 
ft 

And  he  answered  placidly: 

"Pshaw!  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  She's  changed  indeed 
...  to  tell  the  truth,  a  woman  changes  quickly.  Some- 
times a  few  turns  of  the  moon  is  enough:  she  loses 
a  tooth  in  front  .  .  .  her  eyes  sink  in  ...  you 
thought  you  had  a  fine  goose;  but  you  only  have  an 
old  chicken." 


CHAPTER  V 

ON  September  2Oth  the  rain  that  Nono  longed  for 
came.  Beneath  the  gentle  showers,  the  fields  grew 
animate  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  whispering  of 
swollen  earth,  rising  grass  and  trembling  roots.  One 
scented  the  musk  of  the  ripe  grapes.  The  harvest  was 
quickly  begun.  Nono  started  his  carting,  and  between 
whiles  he  did  his  sowing  too. 

But  when  the  grapes  were  gathered  in  and  the  sow- 
ing done,  the  hour  of  Renardin's  destiny  sounded. 
On  a  calm  and  melancholy  afternoon  in  October,  he 
who  for  forty-seven  years  had  devoted  his  life  to 
wickedness  was  summoned  to  his  account  peacefully, 
even  like  the  good. 

The  following  day,  a  priest  came  for  the  remains. 
Only  one  woman,  Catherine,  and  some  fifteen  men 
followed  in  the  funeral  procession.  Nono  was  among 
them.  The  funeral  train  at  first  passed  through  the 
village,  where  the  wine-presses  were  already  being  set 
up.  On  the  Place  des  Marronniers  the  frail  still  of 
the  alembic  was  up,  and  in  the  yards  the  red,  round 
casks  were  arranged  in  line,  and  throughout  the  vil- 
lage there  was  an  intoxicating  odor  of  must. 

The  funeral  train  proceeded  in  silence,  from  the 
church  to  the  cemetery,  halfway  up  the  hill,  among  the 
vines  with  their  red  leaves.  Above,  there  were  stretches 

216 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  217 

of  fallow  land  interspersed  with  irregular  thickets  of 
golden  box-trees  and  azure  junipers.  Below,  in  the 
distance  beneath  the  sky,  rolled  the  plain  with  its  nar- 
row paths  where,  in  a  thin  mist,  breathed  the  life  of 
a  hundred  peaceful  villages.  Everywhere  there  reigned 
the  melancholy  sweetness  of  autumn,  a  sense  of  the  pass- 
ing year  ...  of  fleeting  time.  .  .  .  The  priest  mur- 
mured prayers  which  entrust  the  dead  to  the  infinite 
mercy  of  the  Almighty.  .  .  . 

When  it  was  over,  Briquet  said  quietly  to  his  dream- 
ing companion,  "Nono,  you  mustn't  remain  like  that. 
.  .  .  You  must  also  think  of  our  thirst.  Come,  let's 
have  some  white  wine  at  Tranquetin's.  Look  here:  at 
the  Thiebaud's  they're  having  their  ten  o'clock  dram. 
Sha'n't  we  have  a  glass  too?" 

"Well,  go  ahead,  and  have  your  drink.  .  .  .  Let's 
cheer  up  our  spirits  a  bit,  for  I'm  sad." 

As  was  customary,  the  men  who  had  just  been 
present  at  the  burial  stopped  at  the  cafe.  "Here  are 
the  death-hunters !"  the  people  gayly  shouted  at  them. 
They  were  heartily  welcomed;  but  Briquet  carried  off 
the  trophy  when  he  squeaked: 

"...  I  tell  you.  ...  I'd  've  bet  anything  that 
our  idiot  Nono'd  be  there.  .  .  .  But  you  haven't  seen 
the  funniest  thing  of  all.  .  .  .  You've  seen  him  pass 
by,  yawning,  as  he  followed  the  funeral  train.  .  .  . 
But  you  should've  seen  him  in  the  yard  of  the  hospital, 
with  his  black  cape  and  his  little,  flat  felt  hat,  perched 
like  a  butter-cake  on  top  of  his  big,  blinking  face! 


218  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

.  .  .  His  affected  airs  were  side-splitting;  he  stamped 
his  heel  to  draw  himself  up ;  he  jogged  his  head  to  and 
fro;  and  with  the  big  umbrella  that  he  pressed  near 
his  heart,  he  looked  just  like  a  perfect  ass.  .  .  . 

"But  listen  to  this:  I  got  it  into  my  head  to  cry, 
'Hey  there!  .  .  .  giv'  us  a  hand!  .  .  .  '  as  we  were 
about  to  lift  the  coffin.  Oh!  he  jumped  up,  all  upset, 
turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  not  knowing  where 
to  put  his  umbrella;  at  last,  he  decided  to  put  it  on 
the  ground,  there  .  .  .  bang!  .  .  .  and,  with  a  tragic 
air,  he  runs  to  us ;  he  gets  hold  of  the  coffin  with  open 
arms  as  if  he  had  a  great  love  for  it.  ...  You 
should've  seen  him,  then,  act  the  courteous  fellow  with 
the  dead  man,  his  gaping  head  resting  tenderly  on 
the  corner  of  the  box,  while  both  his  arms  clutched 
it  like  a  father's  hugging  his  son.  .  .  .  We  laughed 
quietly. 

"...  At  the  cemetery,  as  the  earth  was  a  little  in 
our  way,  we  pushed  the  coffin  rather  roughly.  'Be 
careful!'  he  cries  to  us.  'Be  careful!  Not  so  hard.' 
And  he  stiffened!  Then  our  Carongeot,  who  ain't 
cranky  and  who  was  holding  one  of  the  sides, 
whispered  in  his  good-natured  way:  'Oh!  even  if  we'd 
shake  him  up  a  bit !  .  .  .  There's  no  fuss  to  be  made. 
.  .  .  Let  go,  believe  me  ...  let  go  and  don't  hold 
it  back.  .  .  .  There  .  .  .  now  .  .  .  easy  .  .  .  That's 
right.  .  .  .  Put  it  down  .  .  .  there!  .  .  .  ' 

"We  put  the  coffin  down;  we  stood  up  and  wiped 
our  foreheads.  There  were  fifteen  of  us,  all  old  pals, 
kneeling  on  the  gravel,  holding  on  to  a  grating  and 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  219 

looking  at  our  dear  deceased  getting  acquainted  with 
the  earth,  and  listening  to  our  vicar  recommending  him 
in  Latin  to  the  Eternal  Father.  That  little  wag  of 
a  vicar,  in  a  long  white  robe,  his  small  short-sighted 
head  buried  in  the  mass  book,  nibbled  at  bits  of  prayer 
in  a  sugary  fashion;  he  threw  his  paws  towards  the 
corpse  every  once  in  a  while,  and  mumbled  a  'Dominus 
vobiscum'  and  an  'seternum'  ...  do  you  want  'em 
.  .  .  have  'em.  .  .  .  But  it  was  above  all  the  sight  of 
Nono  that  made  us  chuckle.  He  drooped  sideways  his 
stupid  head,  with  beneficent  eyes;  and  on  that  long, 
thirsty  face,  a  beautiful,  angelic  grimace  rested.  .  .  . 
Oh  by  heaven!  .  .  .  just  like  a  butterfly  on  a  box  of 
sardines.  .  .  . 

"On  leaving  the  cemetery  I  tried  to  talk  to  him; 
but  it  wasn't  possible.  He  began  to  preach:  'Poor 
fellow!  without  knowing  it  you're  passing  over  the 
same  pitiful  path  over  which  all  the  dead  have  passed.' 
You  can  well  imagine  that  I  was  off  in  a  hurry !  .  .  . 
He's  to  meet  us  here.  .  .  .  We  can  have  rare  sport. 
.  .  .  Friends,  do  you  catch  my  idea?  .  .  .  Well,  if 
we  know  how  to  handle  our  idiot  without  rushing  the 
thing,  if  we  know  how  to  lead  him  up  to  it  nicely, 
I'll  bet  you  he'll  sleep  with  his  old  one  to-night.  She's 
at  my  landlady's  now.  .  .  .  Catherine  is  consoling  her. 
.  .  .  She's  leaving  to-night  for  Dijon.  .  .  .  Well, 
we've  got  to  carry  it  out.  Only,  be  careful!  .  .  . 
Nono  always  gets  violent  at  the  end  of  a  party." 

"Oh!"  said  big  Jonas  peacefully,  "let  me  handle 
the  ninny." 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  Nono  entered  the  cafe,  he  found  many  peo- 
ple and  a  merry  welcome.  Big  Jonas  made  him  sit 
down  at  his  side;  and  the  splendid  drunkard  leaned 
his  truculent  face  towards  Nono  and  blurted  out  his 
sympathy.  .  .  .  But  it  was  not  necessary  to  prepare 
the  dialogue,  for  Nono,  from  the  start,  struck  at  the 
very  core  of  the  matter,  and  Jonas  had  but  to  reply. 

"You're,  indeed,  very  kind  to  offer  me.  .  .  .  But  I 
really  don't  want  to  drink.  And  yet  I'm  so  sad  over 
what's  happening  in  these  parts.  .  .  .  ' 

"What  is  happening?" 

"Well,  it's  the  way  certain  people  act  that  don't 
please  me.  When  the  procession  passed  by,  they 
laughed.  .  .  .  There  ain't  nothing  to  be  smart  about, 
however.  Even  in  a  little  village  like  this,  death  is 
death.  I'm  always  sad  when  I  see  a  poor  corpse,  and 
I  say  to  myself:  'Here's  one  who'll  perhaps  never 
again  celebrate  Saint  Vincent's  day !' ' 

"Indeed !  But  there's  no  reason  to  mourn  Renardin. 
He's  dead.  .  .  .  That's  no  bad  business.  Besides,  it's 
just  that  it  should  be  him  rather  than  the  cow  of  a 
poor  man.  ,  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  it's  just!"  And  Nono  shook  his  head  with 
,  220 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  221 

the  knowing  air  of  one  who  is  well  informed  on  the 
subject.  "Ah!  it's  just!  .  .  .  Well,  justice  is  rot!  I 
don't  know  what  knave  was  the  first  one  to  say :  'Don't 
touch  nothing  of  mine.'  On  that  account,  they've  built 
prisons  for  those  who  had  nothing,  and  who  nibbled 
at  the  hoards  of  others.  That  may  be  one  way  of 
seeing;  but  as  to  being  just,  sand  and  rocks  are  also 
just:  they  don't  do  harm  to  those  who  look  for  noth- 
ing. But  we  ain't  the  sons  of  sand  and  rocks:  we 
have  nothing  from  'em.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  just  listen  to  this.  .  .  .  That's  what  you  call 
babbling!  .  .  .  You're  handing  us  out  the  ideas  of  a 
cobbler!  You're  off  again,  you  cracked  nut,  attacking 
the  society  that  guarantees  you  an  income!  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh !  I  don't  give  a  hang  about  society !  The  gov- 
ernment, the  authorities,  the  Bench,  the  soldier  with 
his  helmet  or  the  judge  with  his  round  cap — all  that, 
that  can  do  no  great  good  and  no  great  harm.  Hail, 
disease,  death — that's  at  least  something  to  cope  with ! 
.  .  .  that  can  master  us!  ...  But  there's  your  pre- 
fect: he's  got  all  sorts  of  ribbons  on  him.  .  .  .  Yet 
to  what  purpose?  .  .  .  Can  that  creature  even  mow? 
.  .  .  Look  here:  all  the  dragoon  colonels  of  France, 
in  all  their  cavalry  life,  in  spite  of  their  stormy  tem- 
peraments, can't  do  us  one-hundreth  part  of  the  harm 
that  good  hail  can  which  does  nothing  more  than  drum 
at  our  windows  for  ten  minutes.  .  .  . 

"Ah!  I  repeat  again,  it  ain't  from  the  capital  nor 
from  the  prefecture  that  our  real  misfortunes  come. 
It  ain't  the  police  sergeant  who  brings  'em  in  a  letter 


222  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

sealed  by  the  mayor.  .  .  .  No,  no  ...  our  misfor- 
tunes don't  come  from  people.  .  .  .  They  come  from 
elsewhere.  .  .  .  That's  an  idea  that  runs  through  my 
mind  every  time  I  see  a  person  die." 

"And  where  do  these  misfortunes  come  from, 
Nono?  Who's  that  clever  Satan  who  belabors  us  with 
his  devilish  humor  in  this  way?  .  .  . 

"How  should  I  know?  ...  I  never  went  up  to- 
wards the  sun.  My  highest  ladder  is  thirteen  feet 
high,  hardly  more.  To  be  sure,  I  can  see  the  starry 
heaven,  but  I  don't  know  what's  beyond,  in  the  hay- 
loft! ..." 

But  a  cunning  fellow  wanted  to  intervene  in  order 
to  lead  Nono  to  a  more  amusing  subject: 

"All  right,  let  it  be  so.  Let's  talk  of  something 
else.  .  .  .  Let's  leave  Renardin  in  peace.  .  .  .  Why, 
what's  new  in  the  village  besides  this,  Nono?" 

"Well,  nothing  new.  It's  even  pretty  old  in  this 
world.  There  are  people  always  armed  to  the  teeth, 
shouting:  'Justice!  .  .  .  Justice!  .  .  .  Let's  get  re- 
venge! .  .  .  Kill  him!  .  .  .  '  They've  always  got 
some  mad  virtue  in  their  heads.  ...  Their  honesty 
ain't  all  easy  to  get  on  with !  .  .  .  A  man  has  to  begin 
with  three  terrible  enemies :  poverty,  disease  and  death. 
Why  should  we  want  to  add  another  one  ?  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh !  look  here !  look  here !  It  seems  your  Renardin 
is  forever  worrying  you.  .  .  .  ' 

"It's  him  .  .  .  it's  you  .  .  .  it's  me  .  .  .  it's  the 
fate  of  all  of  us  upon  earth  that's  worrying  me.  .  .  . 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  223 

While  we're  reveling  here,  a  poor  dead  man  is  alone 
yonder,  his  head  on  a  pillow  of  marl,  with  six  feet 
of  gravel  for  a  feather-bed!  .  .  .  You're  laughing, 
eh?  ...  Meantime,  he's  struggling  with  the  worms 
of  the  earth!  .  .  .  No  other  amusement  but  to  let  'em 
eat  his  belly!  .  .  .  And  we  say:  'No  pity  for  a 
wounded  beast!'  No  forgiveness  neither  .  .  .  but 
blooming  hatred,  sprinkled  well  with  gall,  and  ever 
fresh!  .  .  .  Such  are  the  men  of  nowadays:  gherkins 
pickled  in  vinegar.  .  .  .  ' 

"But  after  all,  that  Renardin.  ..." 

"Pooh!  .  .  .  But  I  repeat  again:  why  bear  a  grudge 
against  a  poor  being?  .  .  .  Ain't  it  enough  that  death 
is  after  him  ?  .  .  .  Look  at  Piemontais !  .  .  .  Look  at 
Grele!  .  .  .  Ain't  they  dead?  .  .  .  They're  both  as 
dead  as  beasts  can  be!  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  gradually  grew  more  and  more  excited.  They 
forced  him  to  drink;  he  drank  one  glass  after  an- 
other. .  .  .  And  to  set  Nono  agoing,  big  Jonas  be- 
gan in  a  friendly,  scolding  tone:  "Look  here,  Nono! 
.  .  .  Do  you  want  me  to  talk  to  you  frankly  .  .  . 
there  .  .  .  like  a  friend  ?  .  .  .  Well,  people  ain't  satis- 
fied with  your  having  gone  to  the  funeral.  ...  It 
wasn't  your  place.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  I  know  it  very  well.  .  .  .  But,  you  know,  I 
went  to  see  him  on  his  death  bed,  the  terrible  enemy 
of  my  happiness.  .  .  .  And  what  did  I  see  at  hand? 
...  a  poor,  little  red  corpse  very  much  worn  out. 
.  .  .  I've  also  heard  his  death-rattle.  .  .  .  'He's  going 
to  choke'  they  said.  And  from  the  road  where  we 


224  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

passed  by  with  the  mule,  I  heard  the  fellow  cry  in 
his  agony.  I  said  to  myself:  'Oh!  how  dearly  he's 
paying  for  his  death!'  Then,  my  poor  friends,  on 
hearing  those  last  cries,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they 
were  the  calls  to  me  of  someone  departing.  .  .  .  And 
I  said  to  myself:  'Jacques!  ...  Go  there  with  all 
your  courage.  ...  A  brother  of  this  earth  is  calling 
you.  .  .  .  He's  your  brother  Cain,  but  he's  your 
brother  all  the  same.  ...  Go  and  tell  him  to  leave 
in  peace  .  .  .  provided  he  don't  come  to  torment  you 
again  .  .  .  for  there  was  disagreement  between  you 
two.'  But  it  was  too  late ;  when  I  came  near  him,  my 
enemy  was  dead ;  the  soul  which  loves  and  which  for- 
gives had  fled  from  him. 

"Later,  I  really  didn't  decide  upon  anything;  but 
when  the  time  came,  I  went  to  put  my  cape  on.  .  .  . 
I  was  buttoning  the  collar  of  my  shirt,  when  I  saw 
the  vicar  and  the  sexton  pass  in  the  street.  That  fat 
sexton,  old  Tapecloches,  carried  his  pot  of  holy  water, 
swaying  it  with  a  bantering  air,  as  if  he  was  going 
for  his  four  o'clock  bite.  ...  It  didn't  please  me. 
.  .  .  And  I  said  to  myself:  'That  Renardin  ain't  no 
more  with  us,  nor  with  this  world.  He  belongs  to 
another  justice  now:  let's  not  spoil  his  business.  In- 
deed, I  don't  ask  of  God  to  be  relentless  with  that 
unfortunate  man,  for  it's  enough  simply  to  be  dead. 
Let  Him  not  be  more  severe  than  me  who's  suffered 
all  my  life!'  Then  to  show  there  was  no  wrangling 
on  my  part,  that  I  really  pardoned  him,  I  decided  to 
follow  the  unfortunate  man,  and  I  was  there.  I  took 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIE  225 

my  place  at  the  end  of  the  train,  and  I  did  my  duty 
bravely. 

"...  What  are  you  laughing  at?  I  didn't  do  no 
harm.  But  that  white  wine  don't  go  well  at  all.  I'll 
have  none  of  it!  It  scrapes  too  hard!  .  .  .  It's  the 
rottenest  knave  that  ever  came  out  of  a  cask.  .  .  .  It's 
like  a  booted  gendarme,  spurred  to  the  eyebrows,  who 
swoops  upon  you,  his  saber  between  his  teeth,  down 
the  hill.  .  .  .  Confounded  bigoted  inn-keeper,  I'm 
done  for !  ...  Hurry  there,  bring  us  an  absinth.  .  .  . 
No  alcohol  lemonade,  but  real  absinth  which  smells 
of  the  Franc-Comtois. 

"...  And  now  let's  reflect.  You  seem  to  joke. 
.  .  .  There  ain't  a  thing  to  joke  about.  This  morning 
they've  nailed  some  boards  together  and  put  in  it  a 
man  of  forty-seven,  who  was  one  of  the  strongest  of 
the  village.  Is  that  a  joke?  Yes  indeed!  .  .  .  They 
say  to  me:  'You  seem  to  forgive  him.'  But  I  can't 
thrust  a  bayonet  into  the  belly  of  a  corpse.  Look  what 
he  is  now.  Don't  ask  him  anything:  he  won't  say 
neither  'I  was  wrong  nor  I  was  right/  .  .  .  He'll  say 
nothing  at  all.  .  .  .  Not  even  the  African  army,  nor 
the  eleven  stripes  of  the  Field-Marshals  of  France  will 
impress  him:  he  won't  answer  you  more  than  a  log 
will.  .  .  .  What  can  be  done  then?  .  .  . 

"You're  laughing.  .  .  .  And  you  there  with  your 
alpaca  coats  .  .  .  you  merchants  .  .  .  you  makers  of 
the  poor  .  .  .  you're  playing  at  cards  instead  of  buy- 
ing our  wine!  .  .  .  Let's  drink,  then,  since  we  can't 
sell  it !  ...  Here's  to  you !  .  .  .  Here's  to  everybody 


226  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

...  to  the  entire  world  ...  to  the  women,  in  spite 

of  all  the  trouble  they  give  us!  .  .  .  ' 

Nono  was  applauded.  Briquet  rejoiced:  "He's  got 
his  fill:  he's  done  for.  .  .  .  We  can  get  at  him  now. 
Great  heavens!  What  a  souse!  .  .  .  But  be  careful 
later  on!  ...  He  makes  a  bad  business  of  it  in  the 
end."  .  .  .  Jonas  thundered  with  his  sounding  voice, 
and  gave  vent  to  comic  outbursts  of  indignation: 

"No!  Nono,  no!  ...  I  never  would've  thought  it 
of  you.  ...  I  thought  you  more  frank.  .  .  .  You're 
turning  into  a  bigot.  .  .  .  You  disgust  me.  .  .  .  In- 
stead of  dealing  blows,  you  act  like  an  angel,  or  rather 
like  a  donkey.  You  haven't  more  courage  than  a 
spade.  Don't  you  hear  everybody  jeering  when  you 
pass  by?  .  .  .  ' 

"My  friend  .  .  .  my  friend.  ...  I  hardly  have  the 
time  to  hear.  ...  I  pass  by  with  the  mule,  carting 
in  the  produce  of  different  folk.  I  look  here  and  there. 
.  .  .  And  I  see  the  simplicity  of  nature ;  and  I  listen 
to  the  silence  across  the  fields.  That's  the  silence  of 
the  dead :  let's  not  fear  it.  ...  Besides,  the  poor  dead 
don't  suffer  any  more  our  misery,  and  for  them  it's 
always  Sunday." 

"Well,  you  big  ass,  don't  whimper  longer  for  your 
big  darling  Renardin,  since  he's  quite  at  ease,  com- 
fortably boxed  up.  .  .  .  My  friends!  ...  a  dram  to 
the  health  of  our  dear  Renardin,  the  most  peaceful 
man  of  the  village,  sheltered  from  draughts,  with  his 
hands  on  his  belly  counting  his  triumphs,  and  with 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL1  227 

his  legs  stretched  out  nursing  his  swollen  veins.  .  .  . 
To  his  health!" 

"Damn  blackguards !  .  .  .  "  murmured  Nono.  .  .  . 
"They've  ideas,  all  the  same !  .  .  .  I  laugh  in  spite  of 
myself." 

They  were  happy  to  see  him  laugh.  The  customers 
of  the  cafe  became,  little  by  little,  more  numerous. 
Beneath  the  low,  smoky  ceiling,  swarms  of  flies  were 
buzzing.  A  mouldy  smell  of  beer  and  absinth  made 
the  air  sour.  The  merchants  were  playing  at  cards; 
and  the  winegrowers  of  Rue  Hante,  with  glowing 
faces,  hardly  stopped  laughing.  But  there  were  two 
groups  of  winegrowers  who  had  come  for  their  coffee. 
They  all  beset  Nono:  hilarious  fellows  with  their 
aprons  sticky  with  lees,  well  fed  with  sausage  and 
jugged  hare.  There  were  several  other  lively  wags, 
a  few  masons  and  vineyard  owners  who  also  sat 
around  Nono.  They  bent  towards  him  their  red 
drunken  faces,  each  one  muttering  tender  remarks  to 
the  object  of  their  pity: 

"Our  good  Jacques !" 

"Saint  John  the  Innocent !" 

"Graceful  like  a  filthy  snout  !*' 

"Cunning  like  a  sausage.  .  .  .  Warm  like  a  hot 
pudding.  .  .  .  Foxier  than  a  gardener." 

"A  fine  heart  with  all  that!"  added  Jonas.  "The 
little  darling  of  the  women!  ...  A  veritable  rascal, 
I  say !  .  .  .  But  tell  us  a  little  .  .  .  now  .  .  .  frankly 
.  .  .  between  friends.  .  .  .  How  do  you  find  your  old 
woman?  ...  eh?  ...  Do  tell  us!  ...  Not  good 


228  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

still  .  .  .  for?  .  .  .  And  he  ended  his  sentence  with 
a  pert  twinkle. 

"Oh!"  answered  the  peaceful  Nono.  "Don't  talk  to 
me  of  that  misery.  .  .  .  ' 

Briquet,  overwrought  with  drunkenness,  tossed 
about  the  cafe,  struggling  from  table  to  table:  "I  tell 
you,  great  heavens !  .  .  .  I  tell  you  to-night  he's  going 
to  sleep  with  his- old  woman!" 

He  shouted  so  much  and  so  loud  that  Nono  asked 
him:  "Hey?  What  do  you  say?  .  .  .  Little  Briquet! 
.  .  .  Poor  worm!  .  .  .  Just  because  you've  the  snout 
of  a  weasel  sprinkled  with  coal,  you'd  like  to  jeer  at 
your  master  .  .  .  jeer  at  Nono!  .  .  .  Listen  to  this, 
friend:  Nono  with  his  false  clownishness  is  more 
clever  than  you  with  all  your  snobbish  airs  of  the 
dirty  knave." 

"But  listen!  It  ain't  a  matter  of  jeering  at  you. 
That's  what  I  hear  in  the  village:  'Nono's  wife  is 
back  again.  She's  become  a  good  woman,  and  she's 
going  to  give  him  choice  caresses.'  Is  there  any  truth 
in  that?" 

"Oh !  I  see  quite  well  what  you're  driving  at.  There 
are  smarter  people  than  me;  but  there  are  others  who 
are  confoundedly  more  stupid.  That's  true.  Some 
say: 'Nono  is  an  idiot.'  Poor  cobbler!  .  .  .  But  there's 
a  cunning  that's  so  well  rooted  in  my  bones  that  I 
often  distrust  myself;  for  I  know  myself:  if  I'd  follow 
it  to  the  very  end,  I'd  do  harm.  And  those  who  want 
to  put  one  over  on  me,  if  they'd  see  the  danger,  they'd 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  229 

be  scared  out  of  their  wits.  Oh!  I  ain't  the  artillery 
arsenal  of  the  Beaune  Road;  but  I  ain't  like  the  morn- 
ing dew  either;  and  even  if  I  had  to  confront  an  iron 
jaw,  I'd  put  the  shivers  in  him!  Oh!  I'm  not  so 
easy.  I  wasn't  brought  up  by  delicate  ladies.  Why 
since  the  age  of  twelve,  I've  been  struggling  with  the 
Hell  of  the  Earth.  For  three-fourths  of  the  world 
are  rogues.  The  greater  part  of  the  rest  are  filth; 

and  the  remainder  rotten  beasts.     I  say  that  for  you. 

» 

•  •  • 

"Hey  there!  .  .  .  Now  you've  made  him  angry," 
said  Jonas  looking  vexed  yet  in  good  humor.  "Let 
this  poor  Nono  alone  for  a  while.  Don't  bother  about 
'em,  my  chum  Nono.  .  .  .  Let's  speak  of  something 
else.  .  .  .  Why,  let's  talk  politics.  .  .  .  ' 

"Politics!  .  .  .  Well,  as  to  politics,  I  say  that  this 
government  is  rotten.  Since  I  failed  to  sell  my  black 
currants,  I've  no  more  confidence." 

"Well,  what  about  it?  ...  Give  us  some  opinion 
more  definite." 

"Well,  as  to  opinion,  my  great  remedy  for  every- 
thing is  this:  'Go  ahead  .  .  .  bourgeois!  go  ahead 
.  .  .  and  till  the  soil!  I've  been  digging  these  forty- 
three  years:  I've  got  enough.'  That's  true,  too!  .  .  . 
We  see  those  lazy  bourgeois  swaying  their  fat  heads 
gracefully  as  they  eat  a  grape  carelessly,  while  we 
work  at  the  soil  like  madmen,  hard  enough  to  croak. 
.  .  .  But  as  I  say  ...  let  each  one  till  his  own  bit 
of  land.  Ain't  I  right?" 


230  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Well,  my  Nono,  that's  how  to  organize  something 
to  dispossess  the  bourgeoisie.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh  me!  ...  I  don't  bother  no  more  about  any- 
thing. ..." 

"Oh!  my  Nono,"  continued  Jonas,  "it's  up  to  you 
to  get  at  the  head  of  the  movement.  You're  the  bright 
fellow  of  the  village.  .  .  .  ' 

"Me!  .  .  .  But  I'm  just  as  honest  as  you,"  Nono 
vehemently  protested.  "You've  nothing  to  say  against 
me.  I  was  a  good  recruit.  I  went  after  the  chicks 
as  conscientiously  as  anybody.  ...  I  was  a  soldier 
for  two  months  and  that  sharpened  my  wits.  Then  I 
worked  hard  enough  at  the  vines  and  fields;  and  I've 
carted  the  produce  of  many  people.  .  .  .  That's  my 
life.  .  .  .  What  have  you  got  against  it?  ...  You 
pack  of  Prussians !  .  .  .  You  ain't  the  sons  of  the  old 
folks!  ...  No!  ...  No.  ...  The  old  folks  were 
good  people;  with  their  little,  clean-shaven  peaceful 
faces,  they'd  go  to  mass  with  their  bandy  legs  and 
with  their  blouses  blowing  in  the  wind.  They'd  wink 
their  tired  eyes;  and  they'd  shake  their  heads,  saying 
politely  'yes,'  each  time  you  talk  to  them.  There  was 
no  more  falsehood  and  rancor  in  'em  than  in  good 
bread.  .  .  .  Instead  of  that  .  .  .  you !  .  .  .  with  your 
swaggering  airs,  you're  all  made  up  of  the  same  paste 
as  "Cain!  .  .  .  I'm  a  poor  contraband  Christian.  .  .  . 
But  you  .  .  .  you're  all  miserly  wretches  and  Judases, 
and  you'd  sell  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth  for  a  jug 
of  wine!  .  .  .  Look  here!  You  think  I  can't  guess? 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  231 

.  .  .  that  you're  trying  to  string  me  on?  .  .  .  Pack  of 
vermin!  .  .  .  Knaves!  .  .  .  ' 

"Be  careful!  Be  careful!"  whispered  several  of  the 
company.  "He's  becoming  nasty." 

Jonas  courageously  risked  another  remark:  "Oh 
there!  .  .  .  Wait  a  minute,  my  chum!  .  .  .  When 
one's  a  coward  like  you,  one's  the  right  to  shut  up." 

"Me,  a  coward!"  yelled  Nono. 

"That's  sure!  Did  you  even  have  the  courage  to 
break  Renardin's  jaw?" 

"But  he's  dead,  you  thick  pate !  .  .  .  Besides,  it  ain't 
my  fault:  he  did  it.  But  now  he's  got  to  make  up 
with  Satan  .  .  .  not  with  me.  .  .  .  Let's  hope  that 
Satan  knows  his  business!  .  .  .  For  if  I  had  him  there 
.  .  .  right  there  ...  in  front  of  me  ...  how  I'd 
land  on  him!  .  .  .  The  blackguard!  Tell  me,  what 
harm  did  I  do  him?  .  .  .  Nothing!  .  .  .  Nothing  at 
all!  ...  I  was  a  good  neighbor:  that's  all.  I  didn't 
do  him  harm;  and  he  did  me  a  great  deal.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  not  so  much!  .  .  .  He  took  your  wife  away 

.  .  .  but  look  here  .  .  .  that's  how  you  got  rid  of  her ! 
» 

"Indeed,  I  got  rid  of  her!  ...  Ah!  if  you  knew 
how  that  slut  drove  me  wild!  .  .  .  How  she  insulted 
me!  ...  If  it  was  now.  .  .  .  Oh!  how  I'd  beat  her! 
.  .  .  Great  heavens!  ...  so  that  my  hands  'd  ache! 
.  .  .  Or  rather  I'd  break  her  jaw  once  for  all!  ... 
If  I  had  her  .  .  .  ugh!  I've  such  a  desire  to  choke 
her  that  it  makes  my  teeth  gnash !" 

"Well,"  said  Briquet  quietly,  "don't  hold  yourself 


232  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

back,  friend!  She's  at  my  landlady's.  Come  at  once 
with  me.  .  .  .  Come.  .  .  .  You'll  crack  her  jaw  to 
your  heart's  content.  .  .  .  Come.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  I  don't  need  nobody.  ...  I  want  to  do  the 
job  after  my  own  fashion,  and  with  a  clear  head." 

"Hey!  you  big  donkey!  You've  just  got  to  walk 
three  hundred  paces  .  .  .  just  a  little  way  down  .  .  . 
and  you  back  out !  .  .  .  you  don't  dare !  .  .  .  ' 

"Me!  .  .  .  don't  dare!  ..." 

"No,  you  don't  dare !  .  .  .  "  shouted  the  entire  cafe. 

"Well,  by  heavens!  I'm  going.  I'm  going  to  kill 
her.  ...  I  swear  it  before  you  all.  .  .  .  Come 
along!" 

Nono  rose  and  stumbled.  They  held  him  back  a 
moment  to  listen  to  useful  advice:  he  should  find  some 
pretext,  for  instance,  "invite  her  to  have  a  bite  at  four 
o'clock,  and,  if  she  refuses  .  .  .  get  at  her  and  beat 
her  up!  ..." 

"Yes  I'm  going  at  once!"  brayed  Nono. 

The  crowd  pushed  him  out  of  the  cafe.  The  gang 
of  drunkards  dragged  him  on  towards  Les  Baraques. 
He  walked  along  railing: 

"Slut!  .  .  .  Wretch!  .  .  .  You're  going  to  pay! 
.  .  .  Such  a  harlot!  .  .  .  She's  just  good  to  put  a 
knife  through  and  make  sausage  of!  ..." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THERE  was  a  violent  racket  oi>  the  staircase  of 
Catherine's  house ;  suddenly  the  door  was  opened  with 
a  heavy  blow,  Nono  was  pushed  in  by  many  arms, 
and  the  door  was  quickly  closed.  While  his  friends 
were  slipping  away,  Nono,  nonplused,  stumbling  with 
drunkenness,  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
mean  room.  His  long  emaciated  face  gaped  stupidly 
at  the  two  women  sitting  near  the  window ;  they  looked 
at  him  in  silence. 

"Hail  to  you !"  began  Nono  at  last  in  a  heavy  voice, 
making  grotesque  gestures  with  his  hand.  "Hail  to 
you!  .  .  .  Greeting  to  the  company!  .  .  .  Ladies! 
.  .  .  No  gentlemen?  .  .  .  No?  .  .  .  Well,  greeting 
to  the  women !  .  .  .  Honor  to  the  women !  .  .  .  Let's 
say  no  more  'you  set  °f  harlots!' 

"Listen  to  this  now.  I'm  come  to  invite  my  former 
wife  to  have  a  dram  and  bite  with  me  at  four  o'clock. 
That's  square,  eh?  .  .  .  What  does  that  slut  think  of 
it?  ...  She  don't  want  to  come?  .  .  .  No?  .  .  . 
She  refuses?  .  .  .  She  thinks  it's  the  four  o'clock  of 
a  beggar !  .  .  .  Damn !  .  .  .  What  are  you  looking  at 
me  like  that  for?  .  .  .  Do  I  ask  you  for  anything?" 

Catherine,  indeed,  was  regarding  him  with  sadness, 
His  large  blue  eyes,  firmly  set  in  his  big  red  face, 

233 


234  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

told  a  long  tale.  She  Spoke  gently  to  him,  with  a  kindly 
voice  that  almost  calmed  Nono: 

"Oh!  go  away!  ...  Go  away  quick,  my  poor  fel- 
low! .  .  .  Your  old  friend  speaks  to  you  just  now 
with  all  her  heart:  it  ain't  the  time  for  you  to  come 
here:  go  away!  .  .  .  Mind  me  and  go  home." 

"Well,  you're  right!  All  right.  It's  agreed.  The 
business  is  settled,  I'm  going.  I  see  there  ain't  nothing 
to  be  done  here.  But  first,  you  must  pay  for  a  glass. 
Go  ahead!  Catherine!  Pay  for  a  glass  and  I'm  off! 
.  .  .  Pay!  ...  A  glass  of  something  to  drink,  by 
heavens !  .  .  .  Just  a  glass !  ...  No  ?  ...  Ah !  .  .  . 
She's  great,  that  one!  ...  Ah!  She's  bad,  that  fat 
good-for-nothing.  .  .  .  She  don't  seem  to  understand 
that  I'm  thirsty!  .  .  .  But  it's  an  easy  thing  to  see. 
Won't  you  budge,  you  fat  wretch,  and  go  to  the  cellar ! 
.  .  .  Eh?  .  .  .  Wait  a  minute!  .  .  .  I'll  give  you 
some  kicks  to  knock  the  dust  off  you !  .  .  .  What  are 
you  looking  at  me  like  that  for?  I'm  going  to  help 
you  stare  at  me !  .  .  .  You  big  beasts,  haven't  you  seen 
me  before?  .  .  .  No?  .  .  .  Look  here!  there's  one 
who's  been  with  me  almost  as  much  as  with  the  rest 
of  the  village,  and  who  don't  want  to  recognize  me! 
.  .  .  You  drab!  .  .  .  I'm  angry,  indeed,  but  ain't  I 
right  ?  .  .  .  I  came  here  with  good  intentions :  I  didn't 
want  to  reproach  you  with  anything.  It  was  only  a 
question  of  four  o'clock.  And  that's  how  I'm  received ! 
.  .  .  with  insults!  .  .  .  Low  wench!  .  .  .  But  since 
it's  so,  give  an  account  of  yourself !  .  .  .  First  of  all, 
who  allowed  you  to  leave  my  house  twenty  years  ago 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  235 

in  order  to  become  a  harlot?  ,  ,  .  Answer!  .  .  .  You 
can't  eh?  ...  But  give  me  a  drink,  Catherine,  my 
child!  .  .  .  Just  one  glass!  .  .  .  I'm  of  this  village. 
Look  here!  you  can't  refuse  me  a  drink,  eh!  .  .  . 
Don't  look  at  me  like  that!  ...  I  don't  like  it.  ... 
Do  you  hear  me?  ...  And  you,  why  do  you  stare 
at  me  like  that  ?  .  .  .  Don't  you  know  me  ?  ...  Well, 
I'm  Jacquelinet  ...  an  old  husband  of  yours.  .  .  . 
You  miserable  madwoman,  it's  no  use  looking  at  me 
with  pitiful  eyes!  ...  It  won't  take  now!  .  .  .  All 
that's  passed.  .  .  .  No  weeping  scenes!  ...  I  came 
to  tell  you  that  I've  had  enough  of  it,  and  clear  out. 
.  .  .  Don't  count  on  my  help!  .  .  .  Fancy  that!  she 
thinks  she  can  be  a  slut  for  nineteen  years,  and  then 
come  home  and  peacefully  begin  over  again !  .  .  .  Oh ! 
you  can't  do  it  with  me!  ...  Keep  right  on,  don't 
stop  here!  .  .  .  ' 

"Goodness!  .  .  .  Goodness!  ..."  said  Catherine 
bursting  into  tears.  "My  God!  Listen  to  that!  .  .  . 
Oh !  the  wretched  man !  .  .  .  Every  word  you're  say- 
ing is  a  crime!  .  .  .  ' 

"Ho  there!  .  .  .A  crime?  .  .  .  Do  you  want  to 
preach  to  me  .  .  .  you  ...  a  woman  without  educa- 
tion! ...  Go  on!  my  wits  are  sharper  than  yours! 
.  .  .  My  old  man,  who  was  a  sly  fox,  has  left  me 
his  malice.  .  .  .  Remember  that !" 

"But,  Nono  .  .  .  my  poor  man  ...  in  spite  of 
your  drunkenness,  do  look  at  this  unhappy  woman! 
.  .  .  Haven't  you  no  pity?" 

Nono  then  looked,  in  silence,  at  the  poor  woman. 


236  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

He  gazed  at  the  slender,  wrinkled  body,  at  the  fleshless 
neck  with  its  crumpled  skin,  at  the  drawn  old  face, 
and  at  those  sunken  eyes  whose  glances  showed  but 
humble  submission  to  fate.  .  .  .  Shame  overcame 
him.  .  .  . 

"Ah !  Ah !"  said  he  somewhat  perplexed.  "What  do 
you  want  me  to  look  at?  ...  That  woman  there?" 
He  made  some  evasive  gestures.  "To  be  sure,  she's 
hardly  plump.  She  ain't  as  appetizing  to  look  at  as 
a  lion's  cub.  She's  changed.  I  don't  bear  her  no 

grudge:    tell   her   that  ...  I   can't   say   any   more! 
» 

Catherine  took  Nenette's  hands,  and  sitting  beside 
her  and  leaning  towards  her,  she  spoke  with  loving 
ardor.  But  Nenette  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of 
doubt  and  distress  in  reply  to  everything  Catherine 
said: 

"No,  Jeanne,  no.  .  .  .  I'm  not  going  to  take  back 
what  I  told  you  a  while  ago  when  we  were  alone. 
The  poor  man  .  .  .  don't  judge  him  from  what  he's 
saying  now.  He  ain't  aware  of  it.  He's  as  innocent 
of  what  he  says  as  a  child  in  swaddling  clothes.  Be- 
lieve me,  at  heart  he's  the  same,  good  old  Jacquot. 
.  .  .  But  what  can  you  expect?  .  .  .  They've  made 
him  pitilessly  drunk,  those  wretches !  .  .  .  " 

"Oh!  ..."  protested  Nono.  "One  must  be  as 
stupid  as  you  to  talk  of  my  drunkenness.  Everybody 
knows  that  I  can  stand  a  lot  of  wine,  and  that  I  can 
drink  without  stopping." 

And  he  added  shaking  his  finger  in  his  remonstrant 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL          237 

and  apt  manner:  .  "Rather  say  that  it's  the 
drunkards  of  the  village  who  envy  me  because  I  can 
beat  'em  all!  ...  And  you,  pack  of  beggars,  you 
think  you  can  see  when  I'm  drunk,  but  you  don't 
see  whenever  I'm  thirsty.  But  I'm  tired  of  standing 
up.  ...  I'll  sit  down  with  the  permission  of  both  of 
you.  .  .  .  It's  good  to  act  the  clerk,  that  is  to  have 
your  seat  on  a  chair.  .  .  .  ' 

Catherine  continued  to  talk  to  Nenette  without  pay- 
ing any  attention  to  the  innocent  Nono.  But  Nono, 
who  was  listening,  answered  nevertheless: 

'  .  .  .  Believe  me,  my  poor  Jeanne,  there  are  worse 
drunkards  than  him,  for  drunkenness  ain't  a  vice.  .  .  . 
There's  more  sorrow  than  drink  in  it,  and  he  needs 
very  little  to  put  him  in  this  state.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh !  look  at  the  idiot !  .  .  .  She's  going  to  say  soon 
that  I  get  drunk  merely  by  smelling  the  leaf  of  a 
vine!  ..." 

"...  Besides,  it's  a  blessing  for  him  to  be  drunk: 
he  don't  see  his  misery.  .  .  .  ' 

"Misery?  ...  I  had  it.  I  needed  someone  behind 
me.  .  .  .  First  of  all,  we  must  admit  that  in  the  vine- 
yard nothing  can  replace  the  hand  of  a  woman.  .  .  .  ' 

'  .  .  .  Yes,  weep,  my  poor  Jeanne,  for  you  don't 
know  how  unhappy  and  forsaken  Nono  was!  .  .  . 

"Forsaken?  .  .  .  not  as  much  as  you  think!  .  .  . 
In  the  village  I  still  found  a  good  deal  of  friendship. 
.  .  .  They  liked  to  make  me  talk.  ...  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  reasoning  is  my  strong  point." 


238  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Oh  look  here !"  said  Catherine  with  a  sudden  im- 
patience. "Can't  you  be  quiet,  you  poor  fool?" 

Nono  grew  angry:  "Shut  up!  ...  Me!  .  .  .  You 
want  to  make  me  shut  up !  ...  It  ain't  so  easy !  .  .  . 
The  revolutions  and  the  barricades  of  Paris  gave  us 
the  right  to  talk  when  we  please.  .  .  .  And  you'd  like 
to  upset  a  right  that  the  Republic  is  proud  to  uphold ! 
.  .  .  First  of  all,  who's  the  elector?  the  true  French- 
man? ...  Of  the  three  who' re  here,  who  is  the  one 
who's  served  in  the  fourth  of  the  3rd,  of  the  2/th  at 
Dijon?  ...  Eh?  ...  You  fat  insolent  creature! 
.  .  .  She's  just  good  enough  to  comb  some  dirty 
bristles,  and  she'd  like  to  attack  the  freedom  of  speech 
of  Frenchmen.  .  .  .  Come  now!  .  .  .  None  of  your 
caresses !  .  .  .  I  don't  give  a  rap  about  'em." 

"My  friend !  my  poor  fellow !  .  .  .  "  said  Catherine, 
pleading  with  Nono.  "What  an  ill  luck  to  see  you  in 
such  a  state  to-day!  .  .  .  ' 

Her  tone  moved  Nono:  "Well,  what  do  you  want? 
I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  You  were  insolent.  ...  I 
objected  to  it:  now  we're  square.  But  don't  cry.  What 
do  you  want.  You  seem  to  laugh  at  me,  and  think 
me  drunk !  .  .  .  I  don't  hate  anything  so  much  as 
that." 

"No,  my  boy,  no!  ...  We  don't  want  to  tell  you 
you're  drunk,  but  you  lack  your  usual  good  sense. 
You're  not  so  bad;  there,  don't  talk!  .  .  .  For,  with- 
out wanting  to  do  so,  you've  made  this  poor  woman 
very  miserable.  .  .  .  She  looks  most  unhappy,  don't 
she?  .  .  " 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  239 

"Yes,  she  looks  as  if  she  hadn't  much  luck.  .  .  . 
Besides  they've  said  so." 

"Don't  insult  her,  but  pity  her:  she  has  suffered  a 
great  deal  upon  earth,  believe  me." 

On  hearing  that,  Nenette  covered  her  face  with  both 
hands. 

"Oh!"  said  Nono,  "I  don't  say  no." 

They  were  all  silent.  The  evening  was  gradually 
approaching,  and  it  had  already  begun  to  grow  dark. 
Nono  was  sitting  with  his  long  legs  bent  beneath  his 
chair.  He  was  trying  to  keep  in  the  background,  mak- 
ing himself  humble  and  small,  so  that  he  was  no  more 
than  a  poor,  long  back  pitifully  bent,  and  a  shaking 
head.  Then,  after  a  protracted  silence,  he  murmured 
in  his  pensive  and  drowsy  musing: 

"Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  a  wretched  day!  .  .  .  Believe 
me,  I  understand  it.  ...  I'm  not  stupid.  ...  A  re- 
grettable day  for  everybody.  I  see  it  now.  I  should  've 
had  some  regard.  .  .  .  That  woman's  in  distress.  .  .  . 
Well,  after  all,  it's  her  companion  they've  buried.  .  .  . 
Death  is  pitiless.  .  .  .  But  what  can  I  do  about  it? 
.  .  .  Mourn  too?  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  I'm  mourning  .  .  . 
tell  it  to  her  .  .  .  don't  hide  it  from  her.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  poor  fool!"  interrupted  Catherine.  "As  to 
mourning,  the  unhappy  woman  has  simply  ended  her 
martyrdom." 

"Ah !  indeed !  .  .  .  who'd  Ve  thought  it.  ...  You 
think,  then,  that  he  made  her  suffer.  .  .  .  Yes,  that's 
right,  you  already  mentioned  it  to  me ;  and  I've  thought 


240  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

of  it,  too.     For  that  blackguard  was  always  heedless 
...  a  mad  knave.  .  .  .  ' 

"Let  him  rest  in  peace!"  muttered  Catherine. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  ...  I  hear  him.  .  .  .  Leave  that 
alone!  .  .  .  But  what's  the  matter  with  me?  .  .  . 
Something's  gnawing  at  me.  .  .  .  Why,  Catherine, 
suppose  you  give  me  something  to  eat.  .  .  .  I'm  very 
hungry.  Look  here!  I'm  so  hungry  that  I  could  eat 
a  bear!" 

Catherine  hastened  to  fetch  him  some  bread  and 
sausage.  Nono  took  his  time,  however.  He  opened 
his  knife  slowly,  and  cut  a  slice  of  sausage  and  a 
piece  of  bread.  He  ate  slowly,  putting  some  bits  of 
sausage  on  his  bread  and  pushing  it  carelessly  into 
his  mouth  with  his  thumb. 

"Hey  there!  go  on  and  eat  too!"  said  Nono. 

Catherine  pointed  him  out  to  Nenette. 

"Do  you  see  him,  this  poor  man  hasn't  eaten  per- 
haps for  two  days!" 

"Oh !"  agreed  Nono,  "I  really  don't  know.  And  yet 
we  had  some  soup  two  or  three  days  ago.  To  be  sure, 
I'm  not  fat.  ..." 

Catherine  persuaded  Nenette  to  eat  too:  "You  must 
have  some  strength  if  you  want  to  walk  to  Dijon." 

"She's  decided  to  go  back  ?"  asked  Nono. 

"This  very  night." 

"Oh!  look  here!  .  .  .  I'm  not  hungry  now.  .  .  . 
But  why  go  away  co  soon!" 

"To-morrow  morning  she  must  be  at  Binges  to  get 
the  onions  and  celery  they're  keeping  for  her." 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  241 

"Won't  the  onions  and  celery  be  sorted  out  again! 
You  oughtn't  to  bank  on  'em  too  much,  and  to  leave 
us  on  that  account  .  .  .  poor  woman!" 

"Oh!  they  won't  sort  'em  again,  for  I've  seen  to  it. 
I  was  even  lucky:  they  took  my  stock  before  the  first 
storm." 

These  were  the  first  words  uttered  by  Nenette  since 
Nono  had  entered.  This  broken  voice  dulled  by 
trembling  hoarseness — could  this  really  be  that  of  his 
former  companion?  Nono  looked  at  the  poor  woman. 
Had  he,  indeed,  seen  her!  .  .  .  Had  he  seen  on  that 
wan  meager  face,  the  honest  and  loyal  wrinkles  of 
hard  work!  Had  he  especially  seen  that  absolutely 
resigned  look,  which  says  that  her  duty  upon  earth 
was  accomplished  .  .  .  accomplished  in  hardship  .  .  . 
but  accomplished  all  the  same  in  spite  of  everything 
.  .  .  "through  the  iniquities  of  man  .  .  .  under  the 
trials  of  God." 

"Your  work  is  hard,  ain't  it?" 

"At  times." 

"Do  you  get  your  stock  at  Dijon  or  from  the  farmers 
of  Saone?" 

"I  go  twice  a  week  to  Auxonne." 

"Ah!  imagine!  twice  a  week!  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  it's  a  good  market.  I've  seen  tomatoes  there 
for  less  than  a  sou  a  pound." 

"Indeed!" 

"One  year  I  brought  back  in  baskets  on  my  arms 
one  thousand  three  hundred  pounds  of  celery  and 


242  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

tomatoes,  and  I  made  more  than  a  sou  and  a  half  a 
pound." 

"Oh!  that  celery!  .  .  .  those  tomatoes!  .  .  .  one 
thousand  three  hundred  pounds  on  one's  arms!  .  .  . 
Poor  woman!  .  .  .  That  must  Ve  been  heavy!  .  .  . 
It  brings  tears  to  my  eyes  even  now.  .  .  .  Let's  hope 
the  winter  won't  be  too  severe.  .  .  .  But  something 
is  the  matter  with  me;  I  feel  sick.  .  .  .  ' 

"Do  you  want  a  little  wine?"  asked  Catherine. 

"Oh!  indeed  no!  .  .  .  Leave  me  alone  with  your 
wine.  .  .  .  You,  too,  'd  like  to  get  me  drunk?  .  .  . 
Don't  you  think  I  ain't  drunk  enough  yet?  The  truth 
is  that  I  ain't  worthy  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  To 
give  a  rascal  of  my  sort  wine  is  to  offend  the  sun 
and  the  earth,  the  father  and  mother  of  the  wines  of 
La  Cote!  Listen!  .  .  .  I'm  ashamed  of  myself!  .  .  . 
By  heavens!  for  a  trifle  I'd  destroy  my  vines  and 
replant  with  nothing  but  barley.  .  .  . 

"Ah!  that's  so!  ...  I  understand  what  I've  just 
done !  .  .  .  Loaded  like  a  pig,  I've  come  here  to  make 
a  full  show  of  my  shame!  .  .  .  And  I  didn't  have 
a  word  of  pity  for  that  poor  woman !  .  .  .  That  poor 
woman  .  .  .  why  it's  our  Jeanne  .  .  .  hey,  Cath- 
erine? .  .  .  Let  her  not  cry,  because  it  breaks  my 
heart  to  see  her  cry.  .  .  .  She  don't  look  rich.  .  .  . 
I've  hardly  no  money.  .  .  .  Tell  her  I've  some  cab- 
bage. She  can  sell  it  and  have  a  little  money.  .  .  . 
Catherine,  tell  her  to  go  in  peace;  I've  no  hatred  for 
her.  ,  .  " 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  243 

"My  friend,  I've  told  her.  .  .  .  She  knows  it  al- 
ready." 

"Ah !  .  .  .  Well,  to  be  frank,  the  feeling  I  have  for 
her,  deep  down  in  my  heart,  can  be  called  friendship. 
.  .  .  Tell  her  that  too.  ...  " 

"My  friend,  I've  told  her  that  too." 

"Well,  if  you've  told  her  everything,  I'll  be  going 
now.  .  .  .  I'm  going  then.  .  .  .  But,  my  Catherine, 
just  one  minute.  ...  I  beg  of  you  one  minute.  .  .  . 
If  you  only  knew  how  bad  I  feel !  .  .  They've  made 
me  drunk,  those  blackguards!  .  .  .  I'm  ashamed  of 
what  I  might  've  said  to  you.  .  .  .  But  forgive  me, 
because,  you  see,  the  nonsense  I've  said  comes  from 
a  madness  and  sorrow  that's  without  a  name !  .  .  . 

"Let  me  look.  .  .  .  That  woman  is  our  little  Jeanne 
.  .  .  ain't  she?  .  .  .  Poor  girl.  .  .  .  Look  at  her, 
Catherine  .  .  .  her  face  says:  'Pity  me.  .  .  .  '  Her 
tears  are  looking  at  me.  .  .  .  They  seem  to  say:  'For- 
give me.'  Well,  listen  to  this,  Jeanne :  don't  ask  that 
I  forgive  you,  because  I've  done  it  long  ago.  .  .  .  In- 
deed, for  long  I've  had  no  bitter  feeling  against  you. 
You  see,  little  Laurette  once  kissed  me  very  hard ;  and 
something  burst  within  me:  it  made  my  soul  humble, 
and  I've  forgiven  you  with  a  willing  heart.  .  .  . 

"But  don't  cry  like  that,  Jeanne!  .  .  .  Jeanne 
Jacquelinet,  do  you  hear  me?  ...  I  don't  know  how 
to  name  you.  ...  Oh!  that's  right  .  .  .  show  me 
your  dear  face.  .  .  .  Oh!  in  spite  of  all,  how  young 
your  eyes  still  are !  .  .  . 

"But  go  on!  ...  Go  away  quick,  my  child!  .  .  . 


244  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

The  man  you  see  before  you  is  a  miserable  drunkard. 
Go  away,  my  child!  It's  you  who  came  in  my  youth 
with  your  little  pale  face?  .  .  .  You  had  no  business 
to  leave  me:  I  ain't  as  bad  as  all  that.  ...  I  recognize 
you.  ...  Go  away  quick.  .  .  .  The  Nono  of  your 
love  is  now  the  good-for-nothing  drunkard  of  the  Ba- 
raques.  .  .  .  He's  now  the  butt  of  the  village.  ...  Go 
away!  .  .  . 

"But  before  we  part  once  for  all,  let  me  look  at 
you  with  friendship.  .  .  .  And  then  forgive  me  for 
having  let  you  go  that  day.  .  .  .  Twenty  years  of 
wretched  life  have  been  inflicted  on  you  for  the  crime ; 
but  the  remorse  I  feel  still  has  all  its  leaves  and 
roots.  .  .  . 

"Go!  ...  go  in  peace  .  .  .  little  Jeanne!  .  .  . 
That  was  a  wretched  day  for  you!  It  made  me  un- 
worthy of  you!  ...  Go  then!  .  .  .  But  some  day  if 
your  heart  prompts  you  ...  go  up  to  the  staircase 
of  our  house  without  fear  .  .  .  and  try  the  knob  as 
if  you  were  entering  your  own  house.  .  .  .  Once 
you've  passed  the  door  .  .  .  above  the  cupboard  you'll 
see  a  photograph.  .  .  .  It's  our  Laurette  .  .  .  our 
angel.  .  .  .  After  you  left,  her  eyes  were  quite  like 
your  dear  ones.  .  .  .  Did  you  know  it?  ..." 

Nenette  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  streaming  with 
tears.  .  .  .  She  sobbed,  all  her  body  trembled.  .  .  . 
Catherine  turned  her  back,  and  affected  to  break  some 
fagots  to  light  her  fire.  *  e  .  Nono  was  standing  and 
waiting.  t  .  . 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL1  245 

Suddenly,  Nenette  rose  and  walked  to  the  door  with- 
out saying  a  word.  .  .  . 

"Don't  go  too  far!"  said  Nono  softly.  .  .  And  he 
took  hold  of  her  arm.  .  .  . 

From  the  corner  of  the  balcony,  Catherine  looked 
down  the  street  discreetly.  .  .  .  There  was  no  passer- 
by. The  stones  were  washed  by  the  rain.  Above  the 
red  brick  roofs,  cutting  into  the  white  space,  the 
platanes  made  delicate  angles  with  their  strange  leaves. 
.  .  .  The  night  had  descended  from  the  mountain, 
bringing  with  it  the  perfume  of  the  oaks ;  it  was  every- 
where now,  a  universal  friend  to  the  eyes  of  dreamers. 

.  .  .  Catherine  was  watching  Nono  lead  Nenette 
.  .  .  both  walking  side  by  side  .  .  .  approaching  their 
house  .  .  .  entering  it  ... 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  Nono  and  Nenette  had  entered,  Nono  closed 
the  door  of  the  landing  to  the  street  and  waited  to 
let  his  companion  catch  her  breath.  They  remained 
there,  in  the  dark,  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  when 
suddenly  the  door  opened  and  little  Catherine's  school 
bag  struck  against  Nono's  legs.  The  little  girl  rushed 
in  and  was  about  to  run  off;  but  Nono  caught  her 
wrist  and  held  her  back.  She  raised  her  arm  to  ward 
off  a  blow,  hiding  under  the  bent  arm  her  small,  stub- 
born face.  She  looked  with  terror  at  the  two  standing 
in  front  of  her. 

"Listen,  my  little  Catherine,"  said  Nono,  "listen  to 
me  for  a  minute.  .  .  .  ' 

The  gentleness  of  Nono's  voice  reassured  the  child ; 
and  she  tried  to  escape. 

"Let  me  go,  let  me  go,  I  tell  you !  .  .  .  The  children 
are  waiting  for  me."  And  her  frail,  little  fingers 
sought  to  free  themselves  from  Nono's  grasp. 

"My  darling  .  .  .  little  darling  .  .  .  listen!  You 
see  this  woman?  .  .  .  Well,  she's  the  mamma  of  your 
mamma  ...  of  your  dear  mamma." 

But  the  angered  child  began  to  struggle  and  stamp 
her  feet:  "I  want  to  go.  ...  I  want  to  go." 

246 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  247 

Nono  in  turn  grew  angry:  "Go  on,  wretch!  .  .  . 
Clear  out!" 

The  little  girl  ran  off,  and  Nono  banged  the  door. 

The  husband  and  wife  were  again  alone  in  the  dark. 
Without  saying  a  word  Nono  climbed  the  wooden 
staircase.  But  nobody  followed  him.  .  .  .  He  stopped. 

"Are  you  coming  up,  Jeanne  ?" 

No  one  answered  him.  He  walked  down  the  stairs 
and  was  seeking  with  his  hands.  .  .  .  Nenette  had 
remained  below,  sitting  on  the  first  step ;  she  was  weep- 
ing noiselessly. 

"Come!  my  Jeanne.    Let's  go  up  to  our  house." 

"I  can't,"  muttered  a  weak  voice  mingled  with  tears. 

"You  can't?  .  .  .  And  why?" 

Nenette  did  not  answer. 

"It's  the  little  one  who  repelled  you?  .  .  .  Tell  me? 
.  .  .  Eh?  .  .  .  Answer!  .  .  .  Well,  if  that's  so  .  .  . 
wife,  here's  your  duty  before  you.  You've  seen  the 
forsaken  child.  ...  If  you  know  your  duty,  do  it  at 
once:  the  child  needs  you.  .  .  .  ' 

Nenettte  did  not  move. 

"Poor  woman,  what's  stopping  you  ?  .  .  .  Answer ! 
.  .  .  Eh?  .  .  .  " 

Nono  was  waiting  in  vain  for  a  reply.  .  .  .  He  then 
put  his  hands  tenderly  on  the  bony  shoulders: 

"Well,  all  right!  .  .  .  Look  here,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  something  which  will  make  you  decide.  I  didn't 
want  to  tell  you  this,  because  I  hoped  to  see  you  come 


248  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

back  to  me  of  your  own  free  will.  But  since  it  ain't 
so  ...  listen,  wife:  it's  me  who  came  to  seek  you. 
I'd  gone  to  Catherine  with  an  idea:  to  make  up  with 
you.  ...  To  get  up  a  little  courage  I'd  drunk  a  bit. 
.  .  .  But  one  glass  leads  to  another,  and  I'd  had  too 
much.  .  .  .  But  now  .  .  .  look:  I'm  holding  out  my 
arms.  .  .  .  Jeanne !  .  .  .  Now,  as  in  former  days,  it's 
the  same  arms  which  love  you,  which  are  opening  out 
for  you.  .  .  .  Come!  It's  me  who's  pleading!  .  .  . 
Come  up!  .  .  .  ' 

On  hearing  this,  Nenette  began  to  sob,  holding  her 
head  in  her  hands.  Nono  sat  down  beside  her;  he 
put  his  arm  about  her  waist  and  pressed  her  to  him 
tenderly,  and  he  spoke,  bending  over  her  as  over  a 
cradle: 

"There's  something  else?  .  .  .  Eh?  Poor  mother! 

.  .  .  Dear  wife!  .  .  .  Call  her,  that  dear  daughter! 
»> 

"Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Jacques.  .  .  .  There's  a  little 
martyr  who  lived  upstairs  .  .  .  who  died  there.  .  .  . 
I  killed  her.  ...  I  don't  want  to  go  up  there  .  .  .  no, 
I  can't!  ..." 

"Wife!  stop!  .  .  .  Stop  your  sobbing,  and  don't 
feel  so  miserable !  .  .  .  Let  her  come  and  see,  indeed, 
the  one  who  foretold  and  pardoned!  .  .  .  She's  the 
only  one  who  has  a  right  to  be  your  judge.  Listen! 
your  call's  been  heard.  .  .  .  I've  seen  her  breathe  her 
last.  ...  I  speak  in  her  name.  .  .  .  Your  daughter 
lived  and  died  without  hatred  for  you.  On  her  death- 
bed, she  pleaded  for  you.  ...  I  love  her  too  much 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  249 

to  belie  her.  .  .  .  Therefore,  I  tell  you  come  up.  .  .  . 
Come  up!  ...  Follow  me!  .  .  .  Follow  me  slowly: 
there's  perhaps  a  little  phantom  preceding  us  with  a 
friendly  spirit.  .  .  .  You  remember:  the  stairs  ain't 
steep.  .  .  .  That's  right!  .  .  .  Don't  slip.  .  .  .  Get 
hold  of  my  hand.  .  .  .  That's  right !  .  .  .  That's  fine ! 
.  .  .  Now  we're  up!  .  .  .  ' 

Having  reached  the  stair-head,  Nono  opened  the 
door.  They  both  entered.  It  was  agreeably  somber 
in  the  poor  dwelling.  The  night  deepened,  and  its 
shadows  like  pious  memories  knelt  at  the  foot  of  each 
lowly  object.  .  .  .  Nono  showed  to  Nenette  a  little 
faded  frame  that  was  hanging  on  the  wall: 

"Here's  her  little  photograph.  ...  A  man  who  hap- 
pened to  have  a  stall  at  the  fair  thought  her  so  neat 
and  pretty  that  he  took  her  photograph,  out  of  sheer 
pleasure,  as  he  said,  for  very  little  money.  .  .  .  That 
and  her  soul  is  all  that  remains  here.  .  .  .  You're 
kneeling,  wife!  .  .  .  Then  I'll  leave  you  for  a  while. 


When  Nenette  stood  up,  she  stared  at  the  poor 
dwelling  with  it's  mouldering  plaster.  From  the  black 
beams  of  the  ceiling  were  hanging  chains  of  onions, 
garlic  and  dented  sausages ;  certain  plants  were  drying 
there  with  their  roots  in  the  air.  In  the  corner,  be- 
tween the  chimney  and  the  window,  there  was  a  heap 
of  dry  wood,  vine-branches  and  broken  props.  The 
kneader  was  full  of  rags  and  rusty  pieces  of  iron. 
.  .  .  Could  this  be  the  dwelling  of  former  years? 


250  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

.  .  .  whose  walls  were  freshly  plastered?  .  .  .  which 
was  adorned  with  bright  colors?  .  .  .  which  was 
beaming  like  upright  eyes?  And  yet  Nenette  found 
again  in  this  sullied  house  the  smell  of  sour  bread, 
the  aroma  of  chicory  and  of  dry  earth,  which  is  the 
odor  common  in  a  winegrower's  dwelling.  And  in 
spite  of  all,  by  still  more  subtle  signs,  Nenette  found 
once  more  the  past  and  recognized  her  home. 

She  was  sitting,  her  body  bent  and  her  head  in  her 
hands;  she  was  gradually  surrounded  by  the  soft 
shadow  of  the  evening.  In  her  inmost  soul  the  aged 
woman  sees  a  more  degrading  and  grimmer  gloom 
than  the  darkness  about  her.  She  plunges  into  that 
pitiful  night  which  is  the  horizon  of  our  souls,  which 
veils  our  past  and  our  despair,  which  makes  us  forget 
our  bygone  days  of  sorrow. 

But  what  is  this  presence?  ...  Is  it  a  hovering 
soul  which  moves  about  in  the  dark,  lowly  dwelling? 
.  .  .  An  immaterial  phantom  seems  to  deepen  the 
silence  and  the  musing  of  souls  in  distress.  It  slips 
into  their  revery,  caresses  them  with  the  awkward  ten- 
derness of  a  blind  person  who  no  longer  sees  yet 
searches.  Then,  imperious  it  hails  them  forthwith  to 
the  most  bitter  remorse;  it  descends  to  the  abyss  to 
absolve  them,  as  though  a  divine  visitor  should  stoop 
to  raise  us  from  our  sinful  state. 

Nono  came  in,  but  Nenette  retained  her  pensive  at- 
titude. At  first,  the  poor  big  fellow  was  very  much 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  251 

embarrassed.  He  scratched  his  head,  shook  his  long 
face,  and,  as  if  he  were  taking  a  decisive  step,  said: 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  make  the  fire." 

When  the  fire  blazed  up,  Nono  made  another  at- 
tempt to  begin  a  conversation:  "That's  a  fine  fire." 
Nenette  nodded  yes,  but  she  answered  without  having 
heard  anything.  Sunk  in  her  chair,  her  elbow  on  her 
knee,  her  cheek  resting  on  her  clenched  fist,  she  was 
gazing  and  dreaming.  The  flame  shone  on  her  thin 
worn  face. 

"That  wood,"  said  Nono,  coming  back  to  his  idea. 
"That  wood  is  excellent.  It's  the  best  kind  of  wood; 
it  burns  well." 

"Yes." 

"Oak  ain't  as  good  as  they  say.  A  piece  of  oak 
never  made  the  stove  red." 

Nenette  nodded  her  assent,  and  Nono  continued: 

"However,  ash  wood  blazes  perhaps  better  than  any 
other  kind.  .  .  .  But  do  you  know?  ...  It  ain't  so 
much  the  kind  of  wood  which  matters:  you  must  know 
what  forest  to  choose." 

Nenette  did  not  say  anything,  and  Nono  continued 
to  explain:  "It's  the  same  with  wood  as  it  is  with  the 
vine.  We  hear  people  speak  of  different  vines:  'It's 
on  marl.  .  .  .  It's  on  sand.  .  .  .  '  And  they  yield  two 
kinds  of  wines,  the  one  a  very  dry  wine  and  the  other 
a  very  weak  wine.  But  the  forest  also  obtains  from 
its  soil  a  kind  of  temperament,  and  perhaps  a  more 
marked  one,  for  it  has  a  still  wilder  humor.  .  .  .  Re- 
mark that  the  mountain  woods  ain't  as  good  as  people 


252  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

think.  .  .  .  But  look  here,  you  ain't  listening  to  me. 
.  .  .  Talk  to  me  a  little.  .  .  .  I'm  the  only  one 
talking." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you?" 

"But  say  a  few  words  to  me  ...  a  few  words  of 
affection.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  .  .  .  what  shall  I  say?  ..." 

"Poor  woman!  You've  forgotten  that  language." 

"Yes." 

Her  voice  was  cold  and  indifferent.  She  sank  in 
gloomy  dejection. 

"Perhaps  I  was  a  bit  rough  a  while  ago." 

"No." 

"My  Nenette !  Look  here !  Is  it  really  you  ?  ...  in 
body  and  soul?  .  .  .  Why  yes,  it's  you  .  .  .  yes, 
you're  the  old  love  of  my  youth  and  the  consolation 
I'm  waiting  for.  .  .  .  Say  to  me  a  few  words  of 
affection  that'll  reassure  me,  and  let  me  feel  that  I 
ain't  forsaken  .  .  .  that  I've  got  near  me  my  com- 
panion. .  .  .  You  don't  want  to  say  anything?  .  .  . 
You  hardly  understand  me?  .  .  .  Am  I  the  only  one 
here  who  feels  our  old  friendship?  .  .  .  But  you  re- 
fuse to  hear  me?" 

"Oh  no!"  , 

"Well,  I'll  let  you  alone  for  a  while,  till  your  good 
heart'll  feel  again  your  old  affection  for  me.  Besides, 
I've  something  good  to  do:  I'm  going  to  put  up  a 
nice  pot  of  soup.  Let's  make  first  of  all  a  good  fire." 

Nono  threw  some  fagots  into  the  fire,  and  the  little 
burning  twigs  began  to  crackle  and  leap  in  every  direc- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  253 

tion.  Some  of  them  jumped  to  where  Nenette  was 
sitting ;  she  bent  down  and  with  her  finger-tips  quickly 
threw  them  back  into  the  fire.  Then,  out  of  habit 
as  housewife,  she  gathered  the  little  sprays  about  the 
fireplace  and  also  threw  them  into  the  fire  again.  The 
tongs  were  near  her;  she  took  them  to  stir  the  fire; 
and,  with  the  little  broom  that  was  lying  in  the  corner, 
she  cleaned  the  square  tiles  of  the  hearth.  Her  old 
habits  led  her  on  still  further.  After  the  hearth-stone, 
she  swept  the  floor  near  it,  and  finally  the  entire  room. 
Then  she  began  to  dust  the  furniture,  doing  uncon- 
sciously and  in  the  same  diligent  way  her  work  of 
former  days,  when  she  had  been  a  young  housewife. 

Nono  was  watching  her. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I'm  going  to  get  the  bacon  and 
the  vegetables.  Only  since  you're  sweeping,  I'll  open 
the  window  a  bit.  Now  I'll  tell  you  one  thing:  You 
find  the  house  perhaps  a  little  in  disorder.  It's  a 
little  topsy-turvy,  for  I'm  a  bad  duster  and  not  much 
of  a  sweeper;  and  indeed,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  spend 
so  much  time  in  removing  the  coaldust  from  the  vines, 
that  I  don't  care  about  the  bit  I  see  at  home.  Now 
there's  also  this!  I  don't  like  to  make  the  beds,  and 
I've  always  left  'em  to  good  fortune.  But  she  ain't 
much  of  a  mattress-maker,  for  the  little  one  and  me 
have  slept  in  hard  beds.  I  don't  care  about  myself, 
for  I've  got  big  bones  as  hard  as  stones.  But  is  the 
little  one  well  or  not?  ...  I  don't  know:  she  don't 
say  anything.  At  all  events,  you  can  look  after  your 


254  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

bed;  but  you  know  more  about  it  than  me.  ...  I'm 
leaving  you.  .  .  .  ' 

"Ah!  indeed!  ..."  said  Nono,  when  he  returned. 
"That's  right,  wife !  .  .  .  It's  about  time !  .  .  .  That's 
what  you  call  well-made  beds.  .  .  .  But  this  little 
dwelling's  beginning  to  look  like  something:  we're  go- 
ing to  be  here  like  princes." 

Nenette  was  tucking  in  the  big  bed.  She  had  beaten 
and  rearranged  both  beds  well;  the  wretched  mattress 
of  little  Catherine  had  become  a  real  bed,  clean,  neat 
and  pleasant  to  look  at  beneath  the  carefully  spread 
quilt. 

Without  giving  herself  time  to  breathe,  Nenette  sat 
down  beside  Nono,  and  both  of  them  peeled  the  vege- 
tables. Nono  was  chatting.  Each  time  that  he  threw 
a  peeled  potato  into  the  pail  of  water  he  raised  his  head 
briskly  and  remarked  with  satisfaction: 

"They're  good  potatoes.  They  come  from  Champ- 
frans.  They're  rare  this  year." 

"That's  true.     I've  got  much  trouble  finding  'em." 

"And  do  you  know?  .  .  .  With  these  last  rains, 
they're  beginning  to  get  bad,  and  we'll  have  to  dig 
'em  up  quick.  But  I've  some  fine  vegetables." 

"Yes.  I  saw  'em  the  other  day  at  Gerberois. 
They're  very  fine." 

"Oh  yes!  Now  the  drought  was  driving  me  to 
despair;  but  the  soil's  so  fat  and  fertile  that  they 
sprang  up  in  no  time." 

"Did  you  do  your  sowing?" 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  255 

"Yes.  I've  even  struck  it  right.  I  took  advantage 
of  the  rains  during  the  vintage  season.  Everybody 
was  busy  with  his  casks;  but  I  took  care  to  look  after 
my  good  fields  a  bit.  It's  a  good  thing  to  have  wine; 
but  what  feeds  the  pig,  the  mule  and  the  people?  .  .  . 
It  ain't  the  delicate  plant  that  fattens  those  who're 
dressed  in  silk!  .  .  .  And  the  grapes  can  be  heavy: 
it  ain't  them  as  fill  the  bellies  of  the  cows!  .  .  .  ' 

But  suddenly  voices  cried  in  the  street:  "Nono! 
Nono!" 

"Listen:  they're  calling." 

"Nono !  Nono !  .  .  .  "  repeated  the  unknown  voices. 
Nono  rose,  went  and  opened  the  window  and  shouted 

in  the  darkness:  "Who's  there?  .  .  .  Who's  calling? 

» 

A  group  of  men  appeared  in  the  shadows,  and  yelled 
together:  "Is  your  love-making  all  right?" 

Nono  closed  the  window,  returned  and  sat  down. 

"I  thought  so:  it's  the  blackguards.    It's  nothing." 

It  was  sufficient,  however.  Nono  tried  in  vain  to 
take  up  the  conversation  again.  .  .  .  Nenette  no  longer 
listened  to  him! 

"But  I  don't  feel  like  talking.  ...  I'm  talking, 
and  you  don't  even  hear  me!" 

"Oh  no !  poor,  dear  man !  .  .  .  Oh  no !  I  don't  hear 
you." 

She  dropped  her  head  and  peeled  her  potatoes. 

"Come,  Nenette,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  .  .  . 
Just  because  some  low  knaves  've  come  to  bray,  you're 


256  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

almost  in  despair.  But  the  howl  of  a  beast  mustn't 
frighten  a  soul.  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh !  my  friend,  it's  not  for  me  that  I'm  in  despair." 

"It's  for  me?" 

"Oh  yes!  poor  friend!  .  .  .  They're  going  to  jeer 
enough!  They're  going  to  mock  ...  in  these  Ba- 
raques !  .  .  .in  these  shops !  .  .  .  ' 

"Then  to  please  the  people,  to  have  a  reputation 
among  the  shopkeepers  and  respect  in  the  Baraques, 
I  must  fire  some  bullets  in  your  face!  .  .  .  Ah  yes! 
.  .  .  that's  what  you've  come  to !  .  .  .  ' 

"Oh!  my  poor  friend!  .  .  .  But  I'm  a  wretch 
broken-hearted  with  shame!  .  .  .  ' 

"Come  now!  .  ;  .  Come  now!  .  .  .  ' 

"My  friend!  ...  My  Jacquot!  ..." 

"Come,  Come!  .  .  .  don't  sob  like  that,  and  let  me 
talk:  I  ain't  even  put  a  word  in.  ...  But  what  do 
you  want  me  to  do?  .  .  .  I  can't  hate  you,  since  I 
love  you.  .  .  .  But  tell  me,  little  one !  .  .  .  why  didn't 
you  come  sooner,  since  you  were  so  unhappy?" 

"Come  back  here!  .  .  .  Bring  my  shame  to  my 
daughter!  ...  to  my  Laurette!  .  .  .  Oh  no,  never! 
But  how?  .  .  .  how  can  you  forgive  me  .  .  .  my 
Jacquot?  .  .  .  ' 

"Forgive  you?  .  .  .  It's  no  great  task  to  do  that: 
all  men  are  the  sons  of  forgiveness.  .  .  .  But  listen 
my  poor  little  one:  had  I  had,  that  morning  when  you 
left,  just  a  bit  of  brains  and  a  little  courage  .  .  .  both 
of  us'd  Ve  been  saved  .  .  .  my  child!  ...  A  mere 
trifle  .  .  .  my  Nenette  ...  it  was  a  matter  of  a  mere 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  257 

nothing  .  .  .  and  I'd  have  called  you  back  .  .  .  and 
we'd  've  remained  friends  for  life!  But  they've  en- 
slaved both  of  our  existences  in  barbarous  chains 
forged  on  a  beastly  anvil.  .  .  .  We've  had  our  fill  of 
suffering:  we've  nothing  to  be  proud  of.  ... 

"And  besides,  do  you  know?  Each  one's  his  own 
way  of  acting.  .  .  .  To  me  poor  devil  .  .  .  my  jus- 
tice is  my  good  heart.  .  .  .  But  there's  a  holy  justice 
that'd  reproach  me  for  having  played  the  pretentious 
fellow,  for  having  affected  his  air  and  imitated  his 
voice.  .  .  .  Listen:  He  who  sees  and  hears  ...  in- 
stead of  laughing  at  our  poor  love,  will  ask  us  one 
day  for  a  loyal  account,  well  weighed  and  measured. 
.  .  .  We'll  be  much  perplexed.  .  .  .  But  the  shameful 
are  His  preferred  children.  .  .  .  He  who  had  Judas 
against  Him  don't  seek  his  friends  among  those 
who've  the  respect  of  shopkeepers  and  the  credit  of 
merchants;  but  he  looks  underneath  the  wrongs. 

"It  seems  to  me  you  told  me  that  you'd  go  at  times 
to  Binges.  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  my  friend.  ..." 

"I  know  those  regions.  I've  carted  wine  there.  And 
it's  strange  to  see  how  the  land  changes  once  you've 
passed  Dijon.  As  soon  as  you  go  to  the  left  of  Arc, 
towards  the  Beires,  you  see  hop-gardens.  .  .  .  For 
hop  is  the  chief  product  of  that  region,  hey?" 

"Yes;  they  also  raise  cattle." 

"Yes,  and  even  big  cattle !  Especially  near  Mirebeau, 
ain't  it  so?" 


258  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Near  Mirebeau  .  .  .  near  Pontailler  .  .  .  yes.  But 
near  Groy,  it's  no  more." 

"Ah  yes!  .  .  .  the  plain  of  Groy!  .  .  .  yonder! 
.  .  .  there's  fine  wheat  and  fine  corn!  .  .  .  But  the 
people  are  headstrong.  ...  It  already  resembles 
Prussia  .  .  .  that  region.  ..." 


CHAPTER  IX 

LITTLE  Catherine,  weary  of  running  about  the 
streets,  at  last  decided,  somewhat  late,  to  come  home. 
She  found  the  table  set,  and  the  husband  and  wife 
sitting  near  the  fireplace.  Nono  was  speaking  of  the 
vines  and  crops,  and  compared  the  different  soils  and 
their  yield.  The  little  one,  without  paying  any  atten- 
tion to  the  new  guest,  sat  down  and  noisily  asked  for 
her  soup. 

"But,  little  rascal,  can't  you  let  people  talk  a  bit? 
.  .  .  No?  .  .  .  We've  many  things  to  say  to  each 
other,  your  grandma  and  me !  .  .  .  She's  your  grand- 
ma .  .  .  that  woman.  You  don't  care,  eh?  Oh! 
little  beast !  .  .  .  That's  how  this  little  one  is,  my  poor 
woman :  she  cares  about  nothing  but  tricks  and  pranks. 
A  nasty  little  thing!" 

"Why,  no.  The  poor  child's  hungry,  that's  all.  We 
must  put  the  bread  in  the  soup.  Besides,  the  soup  is 
done." 

Nono  was  comfortably  seated  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  warming  the  palms  of  his  hands  which  he  crossed 
behind  the  back  of  his  chair ;  his  long  legs  were  crossed 
beneath  him.  He  was  calmly  watching  Nenette  bustle 
about,  getting  supper  ready.  There  was  a  wholesome 

259 


260  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

odor  of  fresh  cabbage  and  cooked  bacon  in  the  house. 
He  smiled  contentedly,  happy  to  be  near  the  fire  like 
a  master  at  rest,  watching  his  wife,  go,  come,  and 
move  about  like  the  mistress  of  the  house,  with  the 
smiling  placidity  of  his  eternal  innocence.  .  .  . 

"What  was  I  telling  you?  ...  Oh  yes!  .  .  .  We 
were  talking  of  wine.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  at  present  our 
greatest  difficulty  is  not  to  be  able  to  sell  the  wine. 
The  Parisians,  the  townfolks  and  the  foreigners  all 
buy  the  wretched  wine  of  the  South  which  is  a  cursed 
drink  that  costs  too  much  if  you  don't  get  it  for  noth- 
ing, and  if  you  ain't  paid  to  drink  it. 

"And  then  there's  another  thing  that's  doing  us 
great  harm,  that's  killing  us:  it's  the  manufacture  of 
wine.  The  soil  and  the  sun  are  without  work,  and 
so  the  winegrower.  The  miserable  chemists  Ve  done 
us  a  great  wrong:  think  of  'em  manufacturing  wine! 
First  of  all  they  get  up  their  laboratory:  empty  casks, 
jars  of  chemicals,  little  tubes  of  poison  and  big  bags 
of  brown  sugar.  .  .  .  Then  they  pump  water  over  it; 
and  after  a  farcical  fermentation  you've  got  wine! 
.  .  .  It's  the  vintage  of  the  new  century.  And  while 
those  rogues  draw  their  Chambertin  from  the  well, 
we  must  work  at  the  vines  like  slaves;  and  the  wine 
we  get  from  nature  after  a  struggle  of  ten  months 
with  the  soil  and  the  sun,  ain't  good  ...  it  seems! 
The  merchant  from  Bercy  who  tastes  it  says:  'That's 
sewer  water.  ...  I  prefer  the  manufactured  stuff.' 
Do  you  think  that  is  just?  .  .  .  ' 

Meantime  the  bread  was  put  in  the  soup.    Nenette 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  261 

served  the  child;  then  Nono  helped  himself  to  a 
plateful. 

"Well,"  said  Nono  to  his  wife,  "eat  your  soup,  too." 

"I'm  going  to,"  replied  Nenette.  But  she  placed  on 
the  table  the  dish  of  vegetables  and  bacon,  and  at  once 
began  to  look  after  the  dishes  and  pots.  From  time 
to  time  she  would  stop  working  in  order  to  watch  the 
robust  little  girl  eat.  Catherine  was  calmly  and  slowly 
swallowing  big  mouthfuls.  The  old  oil  lamp  lit  up 
the  room,  cast  on  the  three  faces  its  soft  light  and 
spread  on  the  wall  its  faint,  yellow  glimmers. 

Little  Catherine  broke  the  silence:  "Tell  me,  Nono 
.  .  .  who's  that  woman?  .  .  .  ' 

Nenette  at  once  put  out  her  arms,  and  in  a  voice 
choked  by  tears  said: 

"My  child  .  .  .  she's  your  grandma  ...  or  rather 
she's  a  mamma  to  love  you!  .  .  .  Do  you  want  me, 
my  darling?"  And  the  pitiful  face  drooped  and  tried 
to  smile. 

Catherine  did  not  answer.  She  continued  to  eat 
her  soup  with  the  discreet  slowness  of  a  sedate  little 
person.  While  eating,  she  riveted  her  eyes  gravely 
on  the  two  aged  beings  who  were  contemplating  her 
with  tenderness. 

"My  poor  woman,"  said  Nono,  "what  are  you  tell- 
ing her?  Ah!  you  want  to  be  her  mamma!  .  .  .  She 
don't  care  a  hang,  I  say!  .  .  .  She  ain't  missing  a 
single  mouthful.  But  look  here  .  .  .  why  don't  you 
eat  ?  ...  By  heavens !  I'm  going  to  get  angry !  Now 
your  soup  is  cold!  It  was  a  simple  matter  to  eat  it 


262  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

hot.  .  .  .  But  I'm  going  to  take  another  little  piece 
of  bacon.  .  .  .  It's  very  fine  bacon.  ...  It's  much 
better  than  the  bacon  of  the  belly.  .  .  .  ' 

And  Nono  began  to  look  for  a  choice  piece  in  the 
dish. 

"Ah!  .  .  .  my  Nenette,  you  can't  imagine  how 
happy  I'm  now!" 

Nenette  was  not  listening.  She  was  eating;  but  she 
watched  the  child  closely  all  the  time.  Catherine  had 
finished  her  soup,  and  she  was  fidgeting  on  her  chair, 
playing  with  her  spoon  in  her  mouth.  Suddenly,  she 
came  back  to  her  idea:  "Say,  Nono,  is  that  woman 
going  to  stay  here  always?" 

The  child's  tone  was  so  pert  that  the  husband  and 
wife  could  not  refrain  from  laughing.  The  little  one 
watched  them  laugh  with  some  distrust. 

"She  sometimes  makes  remarks  that  are  very 
funny."  Then  turning  to  the  child,  Nono  shouted: 
"You  wicked  little  wretch!  .  .  .  Does  it  bother  you 
to  see  that  woman  remain  here?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  too  bad,  because  she's  going  to  remain  here 
anyhow.  Little  fool,  she  was  in  this  house  before 
you.  ..." 

"Leave  her  alone,"  said  Nenette,  "she'll  get  used 
to  me  soon." 

"Just  look  at  her!  It's  no  use  talking,  she  ain't 
very  loving.  It  ain't  in  her  nature.  .  .  .  She's  never 
kissed  me." 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL'  263 

"Oh  yes,  my  friend,  but  you  don't  remember.  You're 
going  to  kiss  us,  ain't  you,  my  darling?  ..." 

"No.  .  .  .  You  smell  too  bad.  You  smell  like  an 
old  woman.  Where  did  you  get  that  old  woman, 
Nono?  ...  If  she  robs  you,  it'll  serve  you  right." 

"Listen  to  that !  .  .  .  Where  the  devil  does  she  get 
her  ideas?  .  .  .  The  reasoning  of  the  wretch  ain't  so 
bad !  .  .  .  "  And  Nono  continued,  turning  to  the  child: 
"Won't  you  shut  up,  you  wicked  creature!  Here's 
this  martyr  who's  here  to  make  your  soup,  wash  your 
dishes  and  make  your  bed  .  .  .  who  don't  even  take 
time  to  breathe  and  eat  .  .  .  and  you  want  to  kick  her 
out!  .  .  .  You're  nasty!  .  .  .  You  ain't  bigger  than 
a  four-pound  loaf,  and  you're  already  sharper-tongued 
than  a  bailiff!  .  .  . 

"Speaking  of  a  bailiff,  my  poor  woman,  I'm  hardly 
rich.  That's  my  great  crime.  The  good  days  of  our 
youth  are  no  more.  Two  days  before  Michaelmas,  they 
almost  seized  my  property:  the  bailiff  had  a  grudge 
against  me.  I  just  had  time  to  run  to  the  notary. 
And  now  we're  fixed  with  a  mortgage  on  the  house! 
.  .  .  We'll  have  to  look  out  and  keep  our  eyes  open, 
for  we  can't  fall  asleep  when  a  notary  begins  to  lay 
his  claws  on  us.  ... 

"Besides,  I  owe  about  one  hundred  francs  at  the 
Cafe  Caillot,  which  is  also  a  nuisance.  I  haven't  paid 
for  my  wood ;  and  I  must  buy  twenty  bundles  of  props. 
It's  true,  I've  got  some  wine  to  sell ;  but  I  owe  money 
right  and  left.  .  .  .  Ah !  but  the  most  troublesome  f el- 


264  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

low  of  all  is  the  miller  of  Barges,  who's  a  mad,  low 
knave.  .  .  . 

"And  yet  I've  done  all  I  could:  in  Gratte-Paille, 
I've  planted  potatoes;  in  Gerberois  I've  planted  dis- 
ettes;  in  la  Ramonee  there  were  some  fallow  fields 
and  I've  planted  barley;  and  then  I've  my  wheat  in 
Boise,  where  the  soil  is  very  good.  You  see,  after 
all  I  didn't  waste  my  time,  and  I  managed  to  do  my 
utmost.  But  it's  poverty  anyhow,  poverty  taken  with 
a  good  will,  that's  all." 

Nenette  was  removing  the  cloth  from  the  table  while 
listening  to  Nono's  gossip. 

"What  can  you  expect,  my  poor  man!  ....  I've  seen 
much  worse  misery,  believe  me!  .  .  .  We  must  have 
courage.  .  .  .  We'll  have  it.  .  .  .  ' 

"Courage  ?  ...  Oh !  it  ain't  that  that  we  lack.  But 
I'm  afraid  of  many  things." 

"Why  no,  my  friend." 

"Wife !  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  The  soil's 
in  very  bad  state.  At  one  time,  a  Spanish  clover  lasted 
twelve  years ;  now,  it's  doing  well  if  it  lasts  five  years. 
The  soil  is  getting  exhausted;  it's  dying  underneath 
our  feet. 

"It's  the  fault  of  the  fertilizers.  They  manage 
to  produce  one  harvest;  but  it's  like  a  fire  of  straw, 
and  then  .  .  .  there's  nothing  left." 

Nono  shook  his  head  with  a  knowing  air:  "There's 
something  else  too. 

"Yes,  it's  true,  we  no  longer  manure  the  fields. 
We've  abused  the  heavy  yields;  we  want  too  many 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  265 

beets.  And  then,  at  one  time,  the  fields  weren't  always 
cultivated ;  but  now  they've  no  rest. 

"That's  very  true;  but  there's  still  something  else. 
Look  at  the  countryside:  the  springs  are  disappearing. 
I  remember  the  time  when  every  village  of  La  Cote 
had  its  large  brook.  Now  La  Cote  is  drier  than  a  hoof. 
My  old  man  announced  that  the  phylloxera  was  com- 
ing. He  didn't  use  the  right  word,  but  he  foretold  the 
thing:  the  vines  are  dying  and  all's  going  to  ruin. 
There's  something  deadly  gradually  rising  beneath  us: 
our  grandchildren'll  see  the  thing  grow  up.  Wife! 
we're  tending  towards  dire  happenings.  But  enough 
.  .  .  it's  a  subject  that  terrifies  me.  Let's  speak  of 
something  else.  .  .  .  ' 

"My  poor  man!   You  mustn't  talk  so:  you'll  make 

people  think  you've  lost  your  reason.    Poor  dear  man ! 
» 

Meantime  Catherine  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  edge 
of  the  table.  .  .  .  Nenette  was  staring  at  her. 

"The  child  must  be  put  to  bed,"  she  said. 

"Oh!  she'll  go  to  bed  alone.  At  night  I've  enough 
of  my  own  affairs,  without  bothering  about  her." 

"Since  I'm  here,  I  can  just  as  well  put  her  to  bed." 

Nenette  was  looking  a  long  time  at  that  little,  plump, 
round  face,  which  was  resting  peacefully,  with  her 
cheeks  on  her  hands.  She  was  looking  at  that  mouth 
with  its  open  lips,  fresh  like  a  cherry  cut  in  two.  Cath- 
erine was  no  longer  the  wild,  reckless  child  of  a  mo- 
ment ago;  and  Nenette  was  trying  to  discover  in  the 
child's  graceful  slumber,  some  of  the  dear  features  of 


266  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIU 

her  own  daughter.  Hesitatingly,  she  turned  to  her 
former  duties.  She  began  by  undressing  the  child. 
Catherine  did  not  wake,  but  muttered  some  indistinct 
words.  Nenette  took  her  up  in  her  arms,  and  the 
sleeping  child  put  her  arm  around  her  grandma's  neck. 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  Nono,  "now  she's  caressing  you. 
If  she  was  up  ...  she'd  caress  you!  .  .  .  yes!  .  .  . 
with  her  nails!  .  .  .  But  after  all  there's  a  way  of 
getting  round  children,  and  that  ain't  the  business  of 
men.  I  tried  sometimes,  and  I  was  always  pushed 
back.  You've  tamed  her  at  once!  .  .  .  ' 

While  Nono  was  holding  the  lamp,  Nenette  carried 
the  child  to  bed.  She  arranged  the  bolster,  threw  back 
the  blanket  and  straightened  and  tucked  in  the  sheet. 
After  these  little  attentions,  the  child's  dimpled,  pink, 
sweet  face  looked  as  if  she  were  in  swaddling  clothes. 
Nenette  stood  and  contemplated  the  peaceful  slumber 
of  the  child  whom  she  had  henceforth  the  right  to 
love. 

"Ah!  the  clock's  already  struck  nine,"  said  Nono. 
"Do  you  want  to  come  with  me?  I'm  going  to  take 
my  nightly  turn  in  the  yard  to  see  if  all  the  animals 
are  asleep,  and  if  there's  no  fire  in  the  hay-loft." 


CHAPTER  X 

NONO  lit  his  lantern,  and  the  husband  and  wife 
walked  down  into  the  yard.  They  first  entered  the 
stable  of  the  mule.  Nono  caressed  his  snout  and 
opened  his  lips.  The  mule  kept  quiet;  but  he  raised 
and  shook  his  head  like  a  goat,  wagged  his  tail  and 
gnashed  his  teeth,  which  were  as  large  as  dominoes. 

"He's  become  as  hard  to  please  as  an  old  maid.  He 
has  his  manias  and  notions,  and  nothing  can  make 
him  waver.  Why,  he's  more  headstrong  than  a  char- 
coal-burner. You  can't  get  him,  for  instance,  to  cross 
a  puddle,  no  matter  how  small,  for  all  the  beets  in 
the  world.  When  he  sees  one,  he  backs  up,  and  then 
he  advances  very  slowly,  putting  down  his  little  hoofs 
on  dry  spots,  with  the  little  steps  and  airs  of  a  damsel 
who's  afraid  of  dirt.  He's  funny  to  look  at!  .  .  . 
Hey  there!  .  .  .  rogue!  .  .  .  There  ain't  a  worse 
knave  than  this  little  beast !  .  .  .  Eh  ?  Sonny !  .  .  .  * 

While  talking,  Nono  stooped  down  towards  the 
donkey,  and  patted  his  dusty  back  amiably. 

"Hey!  you're  satisfied,  little  rogue!  .  .  .  That's 
our  old  friend,  Jeanne.  He's  got  a  good  many  years. 
People  say:  'A  donkey  lives  thirty  years,  no  more.' 
Now  this  one's  long  passed  thirty,  and  I  say  that  a 
donkey  lives  much  longer,  and  can  even  outlive  a  man. 

267 


268  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

Look  at  him!  If  after  my  death  he  meets  with  some- 
one who's  almost  after  his  fashion,  and  with  whom  he 
can  agree  .  .  .  he'll  pull  through  his  hundred  years 
without  muttering  a  word!  .  .  .  But  come  over  and 
look  at  him,  Jeanne." 

Nenette  approached,  and  caressed  the  back  of  the 
ill-humored  donkey.  But  the  ungrateful  mule  suddenly 
began  to  snort. 

"Hey  there!  ruffian!  .  .  .  Be  a  little  polite.  .  .  . 
He  surely  recognizes  you,  however.  Only  he  ain't  a 
noisy  creature,  and  he  don't  like  people  to  bother  about 
him.  Do  you  know  what  he  says  to  himself:  'That's 
all  right.  .  .  .  Don't  make  such  a  fuss!'  He's  right. 
If  you  wasn't  here,  he'd  bray  at  me,  with  his  nose 
in  the  air  like  a  cavalry  trumpet.  But  seeing  you,  he's 
a  little  embarrassed.  Why,  he's  as  timid  as  a  child. 
But  he's  a  rogue,  too!  .  .  .  Look  how  solid  he  is! 
.  .  .  four  little  legs  of  a  dog  to  carry  the  belly  of  a 
cow !  .  .  .  Ah !  knave !  .  .  .  Give  him  a  beetroot.  Let 
him  see  you  give  it,  so  that  he'll  know  you.  He  smells 
it,  he  won't  trust  a  soul.  No  matter  what  you  give 
him,  he  must  sniff  at  it  from  all  sides.  .  .  .  Ah !  he's 
getting  at  it.  Listen  to  his  teeth  working!  .  .  . 
Heavens!  how  they  gnash!  .  .  .  His  dentist'll  croak 
with  rage,  and  gnash  his  own  teeth!  .  .  . 

"Do  you  want  to  see  the  rabbits?  .  .  .  Here  they 
are,  the  little  four-paws.  They  think  we're  going  to 
give  'em  some  grass.  .  .  .  ' 

Under  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  lantern,  they  saw 
the  rabbits  huddled  together  like  little  gray  balls  at 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  269 

the  bottom  of  the  trellis.  There  was  a  heap  of  fleecy, 
silken  backs,  on  which  long  horn-like  ears  were  reclin- 
ing. Their  little  snouts,  nostrils  and  whiskers  were 
pricked  in  the  air  towards  the  two  human  faces  that 
were  amiably  watching  them. 

"Do  you  see  'em!  .  .  .  They're  of  the  last  brood 
.  .  .  and  how  fat!  ...  They  ain't  worrying  much. 

"I'm  not  going  to  show  you  the  pig:  that'd  be  too 
stupid  .  .  .  and  besides  I  ain't  got  one.  You're  laugh- 
ing, my  poor  woman!  I'm  so  happy!  You  see  that 
I'm  still  the  same  simple  fellow.  .  .  .  Nono  the  gos- 
sip, not  cunning,  and  hardly  rich!  .  .  .  I've  hardly 
improved,  eh?  ...  You're  crying  .  .  .  now?  There's 
no  reason,  believe  me.  .  .  .  ' 

They  walked  out  of  the  stable.  The  night  was  clear 
and  bright  with  moonlight.  In  the  sky  hung  low  the 
incomplete  face  of  a  strange  yet  expressive  moon.  .  .  . 
And  Nenette  recognized  in  that  pale  light  all  the  places 
of  her  youth  .  .  .  the  yard  .  .  .  the  cottages  .  .  . 
the  lowly  and  touching  objects.  .  .  .  And  in  her  soul, 
a  ray  of  light  rose  above  the  ruins  and  penetrated  her 
misery.  .  .  . 

The  husband  and  wife  clasped  each  other  in 
silence.  .  .  . 

"Let's  go  up,  Jeanne,"  Nono  said  at  last. 

She  did  not  answer.  He  waited  a  moment  .  .  . 
then  he  continued  tenderly:  "My  wife  ...  you 
mustn't  cry.  We  can't  remain  here,  it's  getting  chilly. 
Let's  go  to  bed." 


270  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL' 

.  .  .  They  walked  upstairs,  but  they  did  not  go  to 
bed.  They  sat  down,  and  stirred  the  fire.  Then  Nono 
began  to  talk.  The  sound  of  his  dull,  hollow  voice 
was  made  less  monotonous  by  the  cheerful  accompani- 
ment of  the  crackling  fire.  Nono  trod  back  over  the 
path  of  time,  penetrating  far  into  his  cruel  past.  .  .  . 
And  Nenette  listened  with  all  her  soul,  while  from 
underneath  her  closed  lids  tears  rolled  down  noise- 
lessly. When  Nono  heard  a  sob,  he  would  stop;  but 
she  said  to  him:  "Go  on  ...  go  on  ...  I'm  weep- 
ing, but  it's  doing  me  good."  And  he  shook  his  head, 
on  hearing  this,  in  his  habitual,  resigned,  good-natured 
manner. 

"...  She'd  go  away  in  the  morning,  slowly 
clambering  up  the  road  alone  on  her  way  to  school. 

"Sunday  morning  she'd  laugh  like  a  child,  and 
animate  with  her  graceful  work  the  whole  house.  .  .  . 

"...  On  seeing  her,  anybody  could  divine  her 
pure  heart  and  noble  soul.  .  .  . 

"...  The  little  one  and  me  lived  all  these  years 
hand  in  hand.  .  .  .  ' 

"It  was  on  Candlemas-day  that  she  gave  her  heart 
away.  He  inspired  her  with  faith  by  talking  of  pity. 
He  spoke  to  her  of  you  and  me,  and  told  her  he'd 
find  you  and  bring  you  back.  'The  butcher  business 
is  a  good  one/  he'd  say,  Til  make  money  for  all  of 
you.  .  .  .  ' 

"...  She  went  with  all  her  courage,  and  knocked 
at  the  door  of  that  bitter  house.  But  someone  'd  al- 


NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL  271 

ready  taken  his  place.  He'd  left  the  village.  ...  He 
never  came  back.  .  .  . 

"...  One  journey  leads  to  another;  but  the  little 
one'd  gone  on  the  long  journey.  .  .  .  Ah !  she  suffered 
so  much!" 

Suddenly,  Nono  placed  his  hand  on  Nenette's 
shoulder,  and  in  a  strong,  spirited  tone  said:  "Wife! 
she  asked  for  you  continually.  .  .  .  When  she  saw 
that  her  end  was  coming,  that  it  was  her  last  night, 
that  she  would  never  see  the  dawn  .  .  .  then  she  called 
for  you  louder  than  ever. 

"Well,  do  you  know  what  we  did?  .  .  .  We  made 
believe  that  we'd  heard  from  you.  .  .  .  Someone  came 
up  and  told  her  he'd  seen  you.  .  .  .  But  when  we  re- 
mained alone  together  for  the  last  time,  with  despair 
in  our  eyes.  ...  I  had  to  confess  sobbing  my  false- 
hood. .  .  .  And  then  it  was  she  who  gave  me  true 
news;  she  rose  for  the  last  time,  she  spoke  of  you, 
and  the  miracle  happened.  It's  as  true  as  I'm  talking 
to  you,  she  pointed  out  with  her  drooping  head  the 
place  where  you're  sitting  now,  and  she  said  you'd 
come  back!  .  .  . 

"Wife !  I  lived  with  that  hope,  and  my  hope  wasn't 
in  vain.  There's  her  deathbed  before  which  I  learnt 
my  lesson.  Wife!  what  I  learnt  that  night  I'm  re- 
peating to-day  in  my  own  way.  So  you  see  all  we 
can  do  is  to  continue  on  our  path  here  below,  going 
hand  in  hand.  .  .  .  Yes,  my  Jeannette,  that's  right! 
.  .  .  Come  to  my  heart.  .  .  .  Weep  in  my  arms.  .  .  . 
Oh !  the  dear  kisses !  .  .  " 


272  NONO:  LOVE  AND  THE  SOIL 

"Jacquot!  .  .  .  Forgive  me!   Forgive  me!  ..." 
"Come,  be  quiet:  you'll  wake  the  little  one!" 
"Forgive     me!  .  .  .  Jacquot!  .  .  .  Laurette!  .  .  . 
Oh !  my  friend !  .  .  .  " 

"Come  now,  don't  scream !  .  .  .  Come,  you  mustn't 
cry,  because  we've  everything  to  make  us  happy:  the 
little  one,  wood  in  the  wood-stack,  bacon  in  the  salting- 
tub,  wine  in  the  cellar  .  .  .  besides  all  that,  we  can 
love  each  other,  and  in  a  lasting  and  supreme  way 
which  was  unknown  to  us  in  the  time  of  our  kisses. 
.  .  .  For  be  sure,  it  ain't  in  vain  that  we've  suffered." 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAEHPORKJU 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


AUG  2  4  1953 


Form  L-B 
2Sm-2,  '43(5203) 


______ 

R758N7E  None,  love 

and  the_soiL 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY, FACILITY^ 

I    I   II    III    II 
Jlllll 

A     001  172674     2 


PQ 
2636 

R758N7E 


